


Healthcare and ennui

by theremin



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25885027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theremin/pseuds/theremin
Summary: Tom and Greg hit the road. Post S2.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 147
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

"Tom?"

Tom Wambsgans, half-asleep in a hunched over position, arms crossed, knees drawn back, sitting on the floor with his back against Greg Hirsch's door, jerked awake.

"Oh hello there, Greg Wormtongue," he said, his voice too drowsy to hold any real venom.

"What- what are you doing here?"

"What the fuck do you think, you treasonous megafauna. You- treachasaurus." He put his hands on the ground to hoist himself up and then winced, straining. He reached a hand up and Greg took it, pulled him up. "I wanna- I wanna- god I should- I should fucking fuck you up." He turned the hand Greg had grabbed into a fist.

"Huh?"

Tom jabbed a finger in his chest. "I took you under my wing. I protected you. And what- what fucking thanks do I get? You throw me to the fucking tigers! I'm a fucking naked Christian in the Colosseum, dick out, smeared with peanut butter-"

"Dude this- this isn't about you."

"Oh? Oh it's not about me?"

Greg made a desperate kind of noise, got his key out and opened the door. Tom followed him inside.

"So Kendall has you on a leash because you're such a valuable strategist? Because you have such unique analytical insight? Or because you managed to ball up some papers you got- you got from _me_ \- and shove them up your little asshole before I could set them on fire?"

"Tom," Greg said in a slightly frustrated voice. "like, what do you want from me?"

"Hah," Tom said, nodding. There was a silence. "I want to know what the fuck is going on, and I want to know how fucked I am."

"You're not fucked," Greg said. "this is about uncle Logan and it's about Kendall and it's about the change that needs to happen in that company. It's seriously not about you. You're not gonna be in trouble."

Greg's phone started ringing and he groaned a little. "It's uh it's been going off all day. I should just turn it off." He fished it out of his pocket, frowned at it. He looked at Tom. "It's my mom. Do you think I should take it?"

"Do I think you should talk to your mommy? Do I look like I give a fuck?"

Greg shot him a slightly dark look and picked up. "Hey, mom? Guess uh, guess you saw the news huh?"

Tom took off his camel hair coat, put it on a hook. He had no intentions of leaving until he knew everything Greg, and by extension Kendall, knew. He'd squeeze the knowledge juice out of him like a long orange. He looked over at Greg, who was gawping a little.

"Huh? What? Is- is he okay? What?" Greg's voice was going high, which tended to be a bad sign.

"Greg?" Tom said.

"God, mom, I'm kind of- did you like see me on the news? Me and uh Kendall... like the timing here- like- yeah, I know, I know." He nodded. "Yeah uh of course. Okay. Okay! Okay, I'll uh, I'll talk to you soon. Okay. Bye."

He hung up, made a noise like a groan. Tom stepped forward. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Uhh. My uh. My grandpa is in the hospital."

"What? Ewan?"

"Yeah uh. He's unconscious. I guess he might uh die?" He took a deep, shivery breath. "He might fucking die."

"Hey," Tom said, stepped forwards and, not really thinking about it, put both arms around Greg. Greg hunched down and hugged back, breathing hard. Tom rubbed Greg's back. "go uh, go sit down."

Greg walked over to his designer sofa a little dazedly, sat down, knitted his fingers together. Tom walked over to the kitchen unit, started making tea. It was kind of his go-to in shitty situations, and he felt a little deflated. He'd worked himself up quite a bit, ready to poach Greg the Egg, but now he felt all unsure. After a few minutes he walked over, gave Greg a cup, sat down next to him.

"What's this?"

"It's tea, Greg."

Greg frowned. "Did you bring it with you?"

"No, I found it in your kitchen?"

"Really?" He tilted his head. "Maybe it was here when I moved in." Tom made a face at him and he sipped it, nodded. "Nice. Thanks."

Tom took a sip himself, swallowed, let the heat spread in his body, and sighed. What a fucking clusterfuck this whole week had turned out to be. 

"What did your mom say?" he asked.

"She wants me to go see him," Greg said quietly. "there like... might not be long left."

"Do you want to?" Tom asked.

"Yeah, of course? But like- man, I wish his heart had given out like any other week this year? I mean, not at all, but if it had to..." Greg said in a nervous, shaky voice. "Uh, I am, like, needed?"

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go see him," Greg said. He didn't hesitate. Tom looked at him. 

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Greg's face did a lot of things, a lot of things you needed to know him pretty well to even notice. His brain's struggle to gauge if Tom was joking was making his eyes and lips twitch in suspicion.

"Seriously, Greg," Tom assured.

"Uh. I'd. Actually really appreciate that."

Tom nodded, got his phone out. "I'll get Terri to order us tickets on the next flight out."

"Uh," Greg said. "I'm going to have to drive."

"Huh?"

Greg winced. "He hates air travel. If he wakes up he's going to ask me how I got there, probably, because he always does, and he'll be big mad if I say I flew out."

"So?" Tom's face scrunched up in confusion. "Lie."

"I can't- I can't lie to grandpa!"

"Tell him you wanted to see him in time, then," Tom said.

"He's not going to like that." Greg did a truly bad impersonation of Ewan's bitter rasp. "Isn't it bad enough that I have to die, do you have to kill the planet too Greg?"

Tom rubbed his forehead, little soothing circles. "How long a drive is it?"

"Twelve hours," Greg said. "not that long, especially not if two people share driving duties? And maybe listen to some podcasts?"

"We'll take my car. No podcasts. I'll meet you outside in an hour or so, okay?"

"Okay," Greg said. "thanks."

An hour later Tom pulled up outside Greg's building and he was there, good, Tom liked punctuality, wearing a peacoat (his wardrobe had taken a huge turn for the better) and holding a brown bag. He put the bag in back then climbed into the passenger seat, and Tom's dog Mondale stuck his head out inbetween the front seats to say hi, his tail making low thumps against the backseat.

"Oh uh, hey. You brought your dog?"

"Yeah, thought he might enjoy a road trip." Tom started talking in a Scooby Doo voice. "You like to ride in the car right Mondale??" The thumping from the tail in the backseat intensified. 

"Uh, nice, I like dogs," Greg said.

"Of course you do. Everybody likes dogs. Even Hitler did." Tom cleared his throat. "So uh, any news?"

"I talked to like, the hospital. He's like, in a coma. But stable. Which is good. So uh, what did Shiv say?"

"What?"

"I mean, when you told her you were leaving to see Ewan with me?"

Tom shoved his jaw out, shrugged. "She wished us well."

"Okay. Cool."

"Right," Tom said, demonstratively grabbed the wheel. "let's go to Quebec."


	2. Chapter 2

Really, Tom should have taken advantage of the situation and squeezed him for information right there and then, while they were both trapped in his car. Greg was fucking smarter than he looked (admittedly not a high bar to clear) but now he was all out of shape, off his game, probably all tiny and naked and scared and confused somewhere inside his big gangly piece of shit Brutus body. Anger swelled in Tom again. Honestly, how could he? How could he have done that to him? And how dared he do it looking like _that_. Brutus. More like, Goofy in a toga in some educational comic about Ancient Rome, stabbing Scrooge in the back with a banana. Wait, did that make him Uncle Scrooge? No, that would be Logan. Short, Scottish, ill-tempered. Who would he be? Tom racked his brain for childhood memories of Disney comics trying to figure out if there was some likable but downtrodden in-law in Duckburg when Greg cleared his throat, breaking up a long silence.

“Okay if I put on some music?”

“Umm, sure,” Tom said. Greg plugged his phone in the aux and R’n’B filled the car through its top grade sound system. Greg’s head started bopping a little to the rhythm and Tom winced. Not his kind of music. But well, if this was a road trip, they’d get to share music privileges. He’d play Greg some _real_ music later. Blow his tiny mind with some Billy Joel and Phil Collins. He sighed. He felt sorry for young people, deprived of real legends like that. Who the fuck even was this?

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Uh, she’s called Victoria Monet, she’s kinda up and coming, really good, right?”

“Really filthy.” How was this appropriate driving to visit your dying grandfather music? Songs about banging? They should be listening to songs about… dead grandfathers, maybe.

“Huh huh yeah, I guess.”

It was getting dark and they were out of the city, traffic becoming sparser. 

“So ah, is your mom at the hospital?”

“Uuuh,” Greg said. “she um. No. My mom is like, not very mobile?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, she has like a lot of weird diseases, she spends a lot of time in bed. She said it’s way too exhausting for her to travel up to Quebec.”

“Seriously?” Tom frowned. “It’s her dad. Hey, wait, how about, uh, your grandma, is she still alive? I never asked.”

“No, she died before I was born.”

“Oh,” Tom said quietly. 

“Like it’s all just kinda complicated,” Greg said. 

“Hm,” Tom said. He really couldn’t relate. He’d had a happy childhood. Lots of friends, big house, loving parents. They were still together and still crazy about each other. He wondered sometimes if they’d given him too high expectations for love and marriage. If he’d have been able to handle Shiv and her expectations differently if he didn’t have that blueprint in his head. He suddenly became cognizant of Greg talking again.

“-war, and like they’d been writing letters the whole time, so it was uh a pretty nice reunion? I guess? There are like, some pictures, like not a lot, I’ve seen like three of them together, but grandpa looks really happy in them. I mean, you’ve met him, he’s not uh you know the warmest guy, but I think things would have been really different if grandma had lived.”

“Yeah, uh huh,” Tom said.

“Probably, with like, mom, too, and uh...” Greg sighed, trailed off a little. 

“Well, you’re pretty adjusted though, buddy?” Tom said. “Huh? Look at you, high flyer, about to take down a giant like Logan Roy?”

Greg cleared his throat and the silence returned, cloaked by the music and the hum of the engine and Mondale waking up in the back, sighing and then moving to put his front paws on the seat backs, putting his head in front to look. He wasn’t allowed, he knew it, and car time was crate time every time he rode with Shiv, but the big lug couldn’t resist it. Back when it was just Tom and Mondale he used to get to ride shotgun and he’d never really come to terms with the demotion. Mondale panted a little and Tom could smell warm dog breath.

“Get back, Mondale, you idiot.”

Instead of listening Mondale turned his head to Greg and licked his face. Greg laughed, scratched his ear with his left hand. “Hey, hey there Mondale.”

“Maybe he needs to stretch his legs.” Tom yawned. He’d been driving for two hours, more or less. “I know I fucking do.”

After a while they found a gas station, beaming in what was now total darkness, and pulled up. There was a chill in the air and they sat together on a wooden bench, eating hot dogs, Mondale on the leash, looking up at them with begging eyes. 

“So what’s your plan?” Tom asked.

Greg sighed. “Seriously, dude, you know I can’t talk about-”

“With your grandpa, Greg.”

“Oh. Uh. Um.” Greg frowned. “I guess, just like, be there? If uh if it’s the end? And like, the lady I talked to, she said like it might not be but he might need a little help? So uh, take care of him I guess, find a nurse or someone to live with him, if it comes to that. He has like some staff at his ranch but nobody like, living there.” He chewed. “He did make me, like, his next of kin.”

“Huh? Obviously you’re his fucking next of kin.”

“No I mean like, legally. Because my mom is his closest living relative and I think he wanted to like, tell her, fuck you Marianne, so he made it me. And it means I can like, I have all his info and numbers to his lawyers and everything, he sent me a big long email. I managed to find it thank god.”

They finished up their hot dogs and Tom threw Greg the keys. “Okay, your turn.”

In the car, in the passenger seat, Tom checked his messages. He frowned looking at some of them, answering a little tersely, put the phone on mute so Greg wouldn’t hear when the inevitable angry phone call came. Almost magically it did right after he’d pressed the mute button, lighting up his screen. He put his phone in his pocket, sighing. God he was so fucking tired. He let his head tilt to the side, towards the window.

He woke up from the car coming to a halt. He looked around, confused, neck stiff and painful. He yawned big. “What’s up?”

“I’m too tired to drive anymore,” Greg said. “everything is going dancey.”

Tom fished his phone back up, looked at the number of unanswered calls, ignored them, looked at the time. 2:30. 

“Well, okay, let me wake up a little and I’ll take over.”

“No, let’s go in here. It says pets allowed.”

Tom scrunched his face up in distaste. The little wayside motel looked like it was cheap accommodation first, crime scene second.

“What? I’ll drive, sleep in the car.”

“Seriously, Tom, I need a bed,” Greg said, got out of the car and opened the back, leaning in, leashing Mondale who very tiredly slumped out, sighing in a weary way. Tom heard himself make an almost identical sigh, but he unbuckled, got out, and followed them up the driveway.


	3. Chapter 3

Tom woke up completely disoriented in a worn, orange room. God, it was ugly. He blinked. Was he dreaming? Was this a nightmare? His heart suddenly started pounding. _Had he been kidnapped?_ Dear god, this was one hundred percent the kind of room they'd hide the Lindbergh baby in. He was not an actual Roy and far too old to be the Wambsgans baby, would the newspapers care? Would sufficient police resources be allocated? But who would kidnap him? Tom started listing his enemies in his head when a light dog snore made him look sharply to the side and his panic evaporated and he felt stupid. The disgusting motel. Greg. Mondale. He frowned. Mondale and Greg were both lying on the twin bed on the other side of the room, back to back. Mondale was expressly not allowed on furniture, beds in particular. He sighed, looked at his watch. 11AM. He got up. The bedsheets were clean but faintly outlined with the ghosts of stains and he shuddered.

At the creak of the bed Mondale sighed and stretched his legs, spreading his paws like hands, looked at him with his tail faintly thumping, fully aware of his furniture transgression and rubbing it in Tom's face.

"Bad dog," Tom said and Mondale's tail thumped harder. "come on, Mondale. Let's go for a walk."

Mondale jumped off the bed, Tom got sweatpants out of his bag and pulled them on, leashed the dog. Greg didn't stir. He walked through the little motel lot with a grimace. A pool with dead bugs in it, nice. One lady with a bad boob job lounging next to it in a leopard print top in spite of the chill in the air, who cheerily told him "hello". He nodded back. Mondale curiously sniffed and explored.

After ten minutes Tom got back to the room. Greg was still asleep. Mondale, invigorated by his walk, jumped up on Greg's bed and licked his face.

"Uh, what? Huh?" Greg said in a creaky voice. "Uh, Mondale, hey, uh, hey boy."

"Good morning, sunshine," Tom said. "get up. I'd like to get out of this place before it gives me fleas."

"Uh, okay." Greg looked very tired, and when he looked tired he looked... dishevelled. Like, on a molecular level. The soft lines of his face and body warped and turned. He sat sleepy-eyed on the bed in a stripy T-shirt and black briefs and his legs were very long, splayed out ungracefully. Tom looked at the dense black hair on his shins for a beat before he picked up the shirt Greg had discarded on the floor the night before and threw it in his face.

*

"Yes, yes, yes," Greg said, pleased, when the diner waitress came over with a stack of pancakes.

"Eat up, my friend," Tom said, took a big sip of subpar coffee from a white mug. "we have a long drive ahead of us today. But we should be there by this afternoon."

"Actually, I was thinking, uh, maybe we should go out to the lake?"

"The what?"

"You know um, Saratoga lake?"

Tom tilted his head. "Huh? Why? Shouldn't we get to Quebec as quick as possible?"

"Well um, grandpa is in a coma anyway so uh. And like, I spent some summers there, when I was younger? Mom had a boyfriend with a holiday house there. I'd like to see it again."

Tom was quiet for a moment. "Well, okay, I guess a little detour won't hurt."

Greg shot him a little smile and Tom found himself smiling back. Then he felt stupid again. What was this? Some cute little road trip? Two bros putting the petal to the metal and seeing America? He was there for a reason, and that reason was not to go on a vision quest in Saratoga with Cousin Greg. He had to get it together.

No matter what those papers Greg had managed to salvage were, Tom was the one who had ordered him to destroy them. That was... conspiracy. He was guilty of conspiracy. And that could go both ways. That was the thing. He was a cog. A cog is small, unimportant. Could get off easy. But a cog is also essential to the operation of the larger machine. Could get, as it were, royally fucked.

The odds of the latter increased exponentially if you basically walked around with a downwards arrow tattooed on your back and you had a father-in-law with a permanent, raging anger boner.

How the hell Logan had managed to track him down at the relatively modest AirB'nB he'd rented in Brooklyn, Tom had no idea. Shiv had been pretty upset when he'd quietly packed a few bags and said he had to spend some time on his own, Mondale on a leash looking from one to the other in confusion. He didn't feel any smug triumph at her distress. He was fucking sad, too. But he'd been sad for so long he at least had to try something else, anything else. But the fact she'd been puffy-eyed and snotty and teary the last time he'd seen her did make him immediately jump to the conclusion that Logan Roy had come to personally murder him when he opened the door to him two days ago. In panic, he'd slammed the door in Logan's face, but it was the stupid kind of door that didn't automatically lock and Logan had just opened it back up again, looking even more incensed. 

“Stay back,” Tom had said, walking backwards. “I know capoeira.”

“What the fuck?” Logan answered. “Sit down, you fucking moron.”

“Yes sir.”

Tom had sat down on the sofa, knees primly together, straight back. Logan had sat down in an armchair, looking around. In the hallway his driver and his bodyguard had been with him but they were waiting outside and it was just the two of them. How he'd longed for one on one time with the great Logan Roy at one point. Right now he'd rather have one on one time with a peckish Hannibal Lecter.

“Shiv told me you moved out.”

“We're working stuff out,” Tom said.

“Oh, this is how you work stuff out? By running away? Coward.”

Tom did feel that one was kind of rich coming from someone on his third, visibly rocky marriage, but he didn't say that. 

“Well, there might still be some use in you. You're close with my nephew.”

Tom frowned. He wasn't sure how he'd categorize his relationship with Greg Hirsch, but close? Maybe? He viewed himself as a mentor to Greg, really, the Henry Higgins to Greg's Eliza Doolittle. If My Fair Lady had ended with Eliza thanking old Hank for his fucking trouble by throwing him under a double decker London bus. 

“He didn't tell me anything about Kendall's plan,” Tom said defensively. 

“I know you don't know anything. Look at you. But I would like you to find out. I want you to talk to my nephew and find out exactly what kind of ammo he has. And what Kendall's plan is. And then I want you to report back to me.”

Tom tilted his head. “And if I don't?”

That's when Logan told Tom about tiny cogs in big machines. 

So he'd gone to Greg's apartment, scared and angry and livid and worked up, had ended up passing out a little from exhaustion waiting for him to get the fuck back home, and then Greg had gotten a phone call from his mom and suddenly they were on a road trip to Quebec. The offer to accompany Greg had been spontaneous. He guessed he did, at some level, consider Greg a friend, and there were things in this life you shouldn't have to do on your own. Ah, who knew. It was all a big mess. He watched Greg pour maple syrup on his pancakes, carefully cut into the stack. Well, if they had a little more time on their own, at least he'd probably be able to find out whatever the hell Kendall's plan was.


	4. Chapter 4

They'd parked the car near a hiking site by the lake, Tom had turned the GPS tracker on so they wouldn't get fucking lost if they had to detour from the water, and they had been walking for close to an hour now. Greg walked ahead, striding long, Mondale trotting happily next to him, occasionally turning back to make sure Tom was keeping up. Tom almost felt a little bad. Before he'd become involved with Shiv he'd been much more of an outdoorsy guy and probably a much better dog owner. He and Mondale – and occasionally a charming female acquaintance – would spend probably every other weekend going out in the car, hiking, renting a cabin somewhere and just walking, exploring. Shiv genuinely was not interested so he'd decided neither was he, anymore, and he was grateful to her for opening the gates into a sophisticated world he'd been desperate to join since... way too long ago. Probably since he was like ten, sneaking reads in his mom's copies of Tatler, Vanity Fair. 

The colors in the trees were changing from green to orange and brown, and while it wasn't warm it wasn't cold either. Good walking weather. 

“His name was Robert,” Greg said.

“Hm?”

“My mom's ex boyfriend. I think they were pretty on and off, but I remember like three? Summers? We'd all go out to his house here. They'd pretty much leave me to my own devices, but it was okay. I made friends with this other kid, his house had a pool. And I had like my DS, I'd find somewhere with some shade and probably game for like seven hour stretches, haha. Until I got hungry.”

Tom frowned. That didn't sound great. Greg's whole family situation sounded a little weird to him, but he'd never felt the need to delve into it, because the guy was so... well, adjusted was probably not a word one should apply to Gregory Hirsch, but he didn't come across desperate and needy and damaged like the other poor rich kids Tom had known in his life.

“How old were you?”

“I guess... ten, eleven, around then.”

Having just thought back to his own ten year old self Tom felt a little moved. He wondered if they would have been friends. Maybe? Maybe not? Tom had always been pretty gregarious, he could only picture Greg a gawky, tall, quiet kid. He might even have bullied him. He suddenly realized he did spend quite a lot of time bullying Greg even as an adult.

“Was he okay to you? Robert?”

“Yeah, I mean. He didn't like, really try to be like a dad or anything, he wasn't unpleasant or anything he just kind of preferred me out of the way.”

“If Shiv had kids, I would have wanted to be there for them,” Tom said, meaning it. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If you get involved with a woman with kids, you have to deal with the whole package. Let that be a lesson to you. I did date this one girl with a daughter once, we got on pretty well.”

“I bet kids like you.”

Tom grinned, flattered. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, you're funny.”

Tom laughed. “Well, thanks, I think.”

“Have you and Shiv talked about having them?”

Tom cleared his throat. Maybe he shouldn't have steered the conversation in this direction. “Uh. Ah. We have.” He was quiet.

“Sorry, none of my business,” Greg said quickly, picking up on his discomfort.

Tom scratched his face. He hadn't told anyone about how he'd moved out of his and Shiv's home. Not even his mom and dad. Suddenly he felt like he really, really needed to tell someone though. What could it hurt?

“We're separating.”

Greg stopped, turned. “What? You and Shiv?”

“No me and fucking Mondale... yes me and Shiv.”

“Oh, dude. I'm sorry.”

The sun was bright and a little harsh and Tom squinted. He sat down on the rock and Greg walked over, sat down next to him. “It's just, not been great, for a while.”

Greg just nodded. Tom looked at him. He didn't look very surprised. But then again, why should he be? He told Greg everything, even things he really should have the basic sense to keep to himself, and he wasn't a moron.

“I just, I couldn't deal with it anymore. I had to get out of there.”

“I get it. Like, it sounded harsh, the whole, cheating thing, if you're not both super into it.”

“You know-” Tom sighed. “I feel like, maybe, I would have been able to deal with it, if- if I felt like she still liked me best? Because Shiv is... I mean, she's the most extraordinary woman I've met in my life.” He looked down. “But honestly, for a very long time now, and it took me a while to figure this one out, I just don't think she was interested in me at all. Like. Sexually.”

“Hm.”

“Like she needed porn or uh toys or another person in the room just to... and that just fucking hurt my precious little feelings, Greg.”

“I think she like loved you? She stood up for you.”

“Well, you can love someone without wanting to bang them.” He grabbed Mondale who had sat down next to him and pulled him into a bear hug. “Case in point!” he said in a silly dog voice.

“Uh, I'm sorry, Tom.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, let Mondale go. “So I mean, it's – like, it sucks. I'm fucking miserable, I miss her, god knows what will happen to my career, my life... but I can't live like this, I really can't. I'm only 42. I need to believe there's someone out there who is capable of both, like, loving me, and wanting to bang my brains out too.”

“There is,” Greg said.

Tom smiled, amused, patted Greg's bony knee which he'd drawn up in front of himself. “You're very kind.”

“Nope,” Greg said, shaking his head. “just stating the facts. I mean, maybe it's someone you're not into, but it's still true.”

Tom grinned. “Hey, how about you, Hirsch? Seduce any wealthy widows, yet? Throw down your locks and let any pretty debutantes scale the tower?”

Greg looked shy. “Not for a while. I've had other stuff on my mind.”

“Yeah I bet. Greg Giantslayer.” Tom got up, looked at his phone. “According to this there's a cove with a restaurant another twenty minutes walk up. How about we go there, do whatever passes for lunch around here, then head back to the car?”

“Sounds good.”

Greg reached out a hand, and Tom grabbed it, pulled him up.

*

Greg wanted to make some phone calls in private so Tom ordered for them in the quaint little restaurant. He asked the waiter what he recommended and got told the fish was fresh every day, so he went for that. He could already picture Greg's grimace but whatever, the guy wanted to be a player, he had to keep working to refine that palate. To Tom's surprise Mondale was allowed inside as long as he behaved, and the dog was lying quietly at his feet.

Greg came back in, looking a little perturbed. 

“Did you talk to the hospital?”

“Yeah. No change. So uh, that's good? I guess?”

“Okay. Did you talk to anyone else?”

There was a silence. “Yeah, I talked to Kendall.”

“What's happening?”

Greg's face did a lot of tiny things. “I can trust you, right, Tom?”

“Yeah, man,” Tom said. It sounded a little fake to his own ears.

Greg sighed. “Throwing Logan to the wolves isn't going to be enough. Kendall still needs the members of the board to vote with him to actually take over. Otherwise he says the most likely outcome is Logan makes a show of retiring, puts up a for-show CEO, apparently he's already been talking to like some female tech players, but still runs everything through his allies. So he's working to secure the balance.”

“Ewan's a board member.”

“Uh yeah.”

“Does Marianne get his seat if he dies?”

“I do,” Greg said. “part of the whole, next of kin deal.”

“So what? Kendall asked you to smother Ewan in his sleep?”

Greg looked upset and Tom regretted that joke. “No uh, but he did encourage me to like start the paperwork and he said he'd like try and pull some strings... I kind of hung up on him.”

“Hey,” Tom said, reached out and squeezed his hand for a little moment. 

“I just, I don't wanna think, I don't wanna think about anything.”

“Then don't,” Tom said. “you want a beer?”

“Yes.”

Greg did look a little sceptical when the fish arrived but he pretty much cleaned his plate, even if he spent ages prodding each piece of fish he ate, checking for bones. It was close to five when they'd finished eating. If they'd just kept driving like they were supposed to, they'd be in Canada by now. Still, Tom wasn't complaining. If they drove through the night they could be there by morning. And he had a nice time, really. He'd always liked Greg, even if he let him have it at points. That was just their relationship though. He was giving Greg an education, really, an education others would die for. And hanging out with his dog and a friend sure beat being miserable in an AirBnB or sitting in a Canadian hospital waiting for a man to die.

“We should probably Uber back to the car,” Tom said. “it'll be dark by the time we get there.”

“Let's stay,” Greg said.

“What?”

“Well, I've had a drink so I can't drive anyway-”

“I'll drive, don't worry.”

“No, that's not, like, fair, we should both drive. I think we should like stay, I mean just for the night. They rent cabins a little further up, I saw the signs. And they rent like fishing gear? I would like to try to catch a fish, and maybe like, the restaurant could cook it? Like in, like, Jack London.”

“Yeah, Jack London sure did love bijou lakeside accomodation and getting staff to prepare herring.”

“Please, Tom? It's like, I like it here, and it would just be an extra day.”

Tom considered. The place was nice. He was having a nice time. He didn't really want to drive through the night. “Um. Okay. But this is the last detour, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

So they found a cabin and rented fishing gear and tried fishing, but had terrible luck. Only Greg managed to catch something but once he'd managed to get the thing out of the water, Mondale barking furiously, he felt so bad for it he ended up unhooking it and throwing it back in. Tom smiled at him. 

Eventually they decided to turn in. There were two bedrooms, and Tom called dibs on the one with the double bed, leaving the bunk bed for Greg.

“I mean- maybe I could get the double bed?” Greg tried arguing. “Because like, the bunk is kind of short, and I don't actually fit in it?”

“What am I, a four foot wonder?” Tom snapped. “Age before beauty, Greg.”

“We could like, share?”

“What, the bed?” Tom frowned. “No.”

“Yeah, no, but like, comfortwise-”

“No.”

“No, uh, sure.”

“Sleep on the sofa if you need more legroom.”

“Uh. Yeah, maybe.”

Mondale circled the double too and Tom pushed him out the bedroom. “No, Mondale. Not on the bed. You know that.”

That night Tom had to get up for a piss, grabbed his phone and used it as a torch to light a trail in front of himself to see. Passing Greg's room he flashed inside, smiled when he realized Greg had taken a side table, put a pillow on it, and placed it at the foot of the bed so he could have his feet on it, sticking out from the frame. Mondale was sleeping in a ball on the floor right next to him. It looked cozy. Greg looked very young and very carefree in his sleep, his head tilted to the side, black hair fanning out underneath.

Tom sighed, and walked away. Sitting on the cabin toilet, phone in hand, he opened Logan's latest message to reply, ignoring the insults. 

_Greg gets Ewan's board seat if he dies._


	5. Chapter 5

Tom woke up early. Like the day before he was disoriented, but this time not in a bad way. Sunshine dappled his face through the curtains, and it was very quiet. No, not quiet, exactly. There was birdsong, and the sound of wind in trees. He frowned. Where the fuck was he? Oh, right, the cabin. Saratoga. He shook his head to himself. He got up, got dressed, glanced inside Greg's room. Greg looked comatose, his mouth was slack, his body a crumpled heap of limbs. Tom consulted his watch – it wasn't even 7AM. He'd let him sleep.

“Mondale,” he whispered, and the dog blinked, raised his head, wagged his tail a little unsurely. Tom slapped his thigh and the dog yawned and stretched and good naturedly got up, joined him. Tom ripped a page out of his leather bound diary and wrote _Gone to get the car_ on it, put it in plain view on the coffee table. He put on his shoes, grabbed his stuff and he and Mondale set off. Mondale looked back at the cabin quizzically, then to Tom. 

“We're coming back for him, don't worry,” Tom said. He looked around. He felt a little stupid talking to his dog. He did it a lot when it was just the two of them, but this was like... a real... holiday area. That said he couldn't see anyone else around, and the trail wasn't far off. 

“You like him, huh, boy,” Tom said. “yeah, I like him too. We'll kidnap him, and make him live with us, how about that? Keep him chained to the wall where he can't cause any mischief, the big Muppet Baby Machiavelli.”

Mondale wagged his tail, looked up at Tom. He liked conversations.

“I'll go online, see if they sell gimp suits in size redwood,” he told the dog, grinning.

“Morning,” a big guy in his fifties who appeared out of nowhere told him.

“Uhhh good morning ah,” Tom said, feeling his face flush.

The hike down to the car was downright pleasant, and pretty quick. It was a bright and sunny morning, Tom's brisk pace kept the chill away, and Mondale had a great time sniffing and digging and running and exploring. But he looked pretty happy at the sight of the car too, jumped in back and yawned. 

“You're getting old, boy,” Tom told him, then sighed. “guess we both are.”

He drove up to the cove and parked outside the cabin, and Mondale raced inside, found Greg on the sofa, stood up on his forepaws leaning against it to lick him in the face. Greg laughed, turning his face away from the onslaught.

He was lounging there with an old paperback in his hands, and Tom realized Greg was wearing his grey cardigan. When they decided to go hiking Tom had just grabbed some random things and put it in his smallest bag, and he'd brought the cardigan in case it got cold, to have underneath his jacket. He was glad he did, because it had been nice wearing it around the cabin before they went to bed. He was fully aware it made him look like a retirement age librarian. But Greg made it look kind of... fashion? He was wearing a thin white undershirt underneath. Tom was kind of jealous of how nice it looked on him. Tom was tall, and before Greg came lumbering into view he was used to being the tallest guy in the room, but he'd always been stocky too, broad-shouldered and robust. Not even as a teenager had he had that lean, long look that made a tank top and a cardigan look like something posted on Ralph Lauren's instagram. Greg caught him looking at him and bit his lip.

“Uh, sorry? I got cold.”

“It's fine, I don't mind.”

Greg smiled at him and used a long willowy hand to close the cardigan over his chest and Tom had the wild idea to gift it to him, but then thought better of it and managed to keep his mouth shut. Which was, in general, an achievement.

“I made coffee,” Greg said.

“Yeah?”

Greg got up, poured him a cup from a metal kettle that looked like it was... older than Greg, for sure. Tom felt impressed he'd even figured out how to use it. He walked over to hand him the cup and the coffee was hot and strong and nice. If he'd gotten served something like this in New York he'd probably demand his money back and write a pissy Tripadvisor review on his phone but in this setting it was, kind of perfect.

“What are you reading?”

“Moby Dick,” Greg replied. “I found it in the bedroom.”

“Ah, yes,” Tom said, nodding approvingly. He'd never read it.

*

They'd gone back to the little restaurant for breakfast. Greg had pancakes again, with berries and syrup, and Tom had scrambled eggs and toast, and there was more coffee, not quite as strong as the paint stripper Greg had rustled up, but it did the job. 

"Mm, mm," Greg said, rubbing his hands, smiling at his plate. 

"We're getting an early start," Tom said. "we should get there before visiting hours are over."

"Mm," Greg said again, eating. "this is really good? Like, I've thought about maybe, getting a chef, but it seems kind of extravagant. So far there's been like a lot of postmates though, like a lot, haha."

"Get a housekeeper. Kendall has a staff of like fourteen but I think he's had Carla since he was seventeen. She does everything. Cooks, cleans... she runs the household these days, mostly organizes everything, but I've still seen her in the kitchen making soup when I've visited."

"But like would a housekeeper have to live with me?"

"No?" Tom frowned. "Unless you need soup at 3AM? It's a job, with hours."

"Yeah, see, that's way too complicated."

"Well, it wouldn't be your mom. They'd need a contract."

"Uh, if they cooked and cleaned they would definitely not be be my mom."

Tom bit his lip, felt that pang again for the kid Greg had once been. "Heh. Yeah uh, my mom didn't do any of those things either. Too busy. My dad ran the house. Great cook. Total foodie before that was a thing. He even has a cookbook library."

"Cool," Greg said, nodding.

"Yeah, she made more money and he didn't mind, so..." Tom shrugged. 

"No, it's cool," Greg said again. "like, it sounds nice."

"It was, actually," Tom said. "some other kids made fun of me but I knew how awesome my mom was at being a lawyer and how great my dad was at the practical stuff... and you know, I'd go to their house and have dinner and it would taste like hobo ass compared to what I was used to so..." He smiled. "I was pretty privileged. And once they'd tried my dad's cooking my friends would stand up for me too."

Greg smiled warmly.

*

After eating they set off. Tom decided he'd drive as much as possible. It was a little odd, but Greg seemed secretly determined to put off actually seeing his grandfather. He probably just needed a little gentle guidance. A firm hand.

“Have you heard this before?”

“Um--” Greg frowned. “it's like-- kind of familiar? Was it like sampled maybe?”

“Sampled? Who the fuck cares. You gotta drink from the well, Greg. Drink deep.” Tom breathed in deeply and demonstratively as the sound of Phil Collins' 'Another Day in Paradise' filled the car. “It's such a deep song, Greg. It's basically the 'In The Ghetto' of the 80s.”

“In the ghetto?”

Tom glanced over at him. He really had his work cut out in front of him.

“Ohh looord, is there nothing more anybody can do,” Tom sang along, letting the emotion of the song wash over him. “oohho lord...” He heard a soft, breathy sound and looked over at Greg who was smiling very hard. 

*

“I know like some good places here,” Greg said. They had crossed verdant Vermont and the Canadian border and were now entering Montreal. “let's uh, like, go have dinner somewhere?”

“No,” Tom said. “we can stop at a gas station or something if you're hungry. Let's get this thing over with.”

“No, like, seriously, I wanna like, thank you, and uh, I think we should stop and- like, there are some nice hotels! We can check in somewhere, and we can go out to eat and uh get some drinks and then we'll go to Quebec first thing.”

Tom looked at him, then he looked ahead, and took a turn into the next layby, stopped the car.

“Do you want to turn back to New York, Greg?”

“Huh??”

“If it's too hard for you to face your granddad like this, let's turn back. We'll get his lawyers to arrange someone to be with him.”

“No, Tom, I want to see him!”

“Then what's with the...” Tom waved a hand around. “the dawdling. If we keep playing tourist we might not get there in time, you know.”

Greg looked away, then released a short, sharp breath. There was a long silence, Tom wondered if he wasn't going to answer at all. In the backseat Mondale got up from where he was lying in a ball, yawned audibly, looked around confused. 

Finally, Greg spoke. “Like,” he said in a thin voice. “I just- I- I kind of can't stand the thought of losing him. If ah if we go there it'll be really... real?. Grandpa doesn't really show it. Or, he does, but in his own way. But uh. He loves me.” Suddenly a tear streaked down his cheek. “Not a lot of people do, Tom.” Greg reached a big hand up to wipe his face, muttered a “fuck” under his breath, sniffled.

“Come here,” Tom said, spontaneously, and pulled him in close and Greg responded immediately, wrapped gangly arms around him and held on tight, his face warm and wet in the crook of Tom's neck. 

“I just- uh-”

“It's fine. I've got you,” Tom said. This unprecedented display of emotion and vulnerability didn't faze him. He'd never had a problem with other people's feelings or problems. How had a humble guy like him been able to win a Shiv Roy in the first place? There were younger, sexier, richer and more sophisticated guys. But they didn't know how to hold someone selflessly. They didn't know when to shut up and just listen. Tom did. He rubbed Greg's back, in slow, firm circles. 

Greg pulled back a little, enough to face Tom, and then one big hand came up to lie gently at the back of Tom's neck.


	6. Chapter 6

Greg's eyes were wide and a little shiny and very dark, and his lips were pink and a little parted, and his hand was very warm and very large and very firm on the back of Tom's neck. He was so close that Tom could, if he wanted, probably count his eyelashes. Those were dark, too. And. Long. Throwing pin thin shadows down his cheeks. Why was he considering Greg Hirsch's eyelashes. The moment had probably only lasted seconds but Tom felt immobile in it, wordless, like he was suddenly trapped in a painting like in some fucked up mid eighties John Carpenter movie, but then the hand on his back suddenly started insisting, pulling him in, and oh boy it very much would appear Cousin Greg had stepped up to the plate, hit the ball, and was now attempting to make it to first base. Greg leaned in and for a small moment their lips brushed together.

“Ahh,” Tom said, pulled away, scratched at the back of his head with a hand.

“Uh- uh sorry,” Greg said. “I'm so fucking messed up.”

Tom grabbed onto the steering wheel. The car was still not running he just wanted something to hold on to. 

“I- I like you, Greg,” Tom said, his voice hitting a weird high note.

Tom looked over at Greg and he smiled a smile that widened into a grin and replied in a very gentle, slightly awed voice, “I like you, Tom.” His eyes were all starry. Tom could not remember the last time someone had looked at him like that. Except. Well. Greg. In what he had at the time assumed to be purely professional awe. Which he suddenly felt a little embarrassed by. He was a decent executive but he... wasn't... Warren Buffett. 

“Ah, good, thanks, which, is why, this is – this is a bad idea.”

Greg's eyes flicked down for a moment before looking up again. “Um. Why?”

“Because-” he frowned. “because you're upset about your granddad and I'm upset about my marriage ending and I don't want us to do this just because it feels good and then regret it later and never talk to each other again.”

Greg shook his head. “It wouldn't be like that.”

“You don't- you can't know that.” Tom cleared his throat. He turned the key in the ignition, and pulled over onto the road. The music Greg had been playing before Tom pulled over started playing up again, he'd talked about it being some Montreal artist, some helium-voiced girl over techno beats, it kind of sounded like shit to Tom. The lyrics were garbled but then the line _you were scared and you were beautiful_ came through clearly. “We are going to forget about this, and we are going to go to Quebec, and we are going to visit your granddad, and we are going to deal with this whole situation, um, and I will help you out, and I'll be there. Deal?”

There was a silence. “Deal,” Greg said. “thanks, Tom.”

“Good. Now, please put on something else, I can't have a serious moment while Minnie Mouse on ketamine is playing.”

*

The Hopital de Saint Maurice had another twenty minutes left of the visiting hours when Greg and Tom pulled up. 

“Want me to come with?” Tom asked.

Greg nodded. “Would you?”

So they left Mondale in the car, and walked into reception, and it was five minutes left of visiting hours by the time they'd made it to Ewan's room. He had a private room, spacious but pretty bare. He was lying in bed, hooked up to tubes and machines that were helping him breathe deep and easy, looking very thin and very old and very frail. He was long, his feet reaching the very end of the bed. It was easy to see where Greg got it from. Greg walked over, sat down on a chair next to the bed, a little carefully touched the fingers on one of Ewan's hands, before gently cradling them in his own.

“Hey uh, grandpa! So uh, you, look good.” He audibly swallowed. “Uh, no, you don't, really, I guess. But uh. I'm uh here to like, see you and uh, it would be cool if you like woke up because hey ah, being next of kin is like, a lot of responsibility! Um, and uh, if it's like okay with you, maybe you could just hang around so I wouldn't have to like deal with all of it? Uh”

“Are you okay?” Tom asked.

“Not like, super okay,” Greg said in a high voice.

“Gentlemen, visiting hours are over,” a nurse informed in French accented English. 

Greg bit his lip and then leaned forward and quickly, gently pressed his cheek to Ewan's, before getting up. Back in the car he looked pensive, leaning his head against his hand, looking out the window.

“That wasn't too bad, right?” Tom tried saying, encouragingly. 

“Yeah I- uh. I'm dealing,” Greg said a little tunelessly.

“It's life,” Tom said. “it's part of it. He's had quite a life, hasn't he?”

“Hmm,” Greg said. “take a right?”

Tom was impressed by the Roy ranch. It was huge, white and imposing. 

“How much staff does he have?”

“Uh... let's see...” Greg started counting on his fingers. “three?”

“Three? Three people plus Ewan live in that fucking house? It looks like it could comfortably house the Branch Davidians with room to spare for Heaven's Gate.”

“Oh uh no, he lives alone. His housekeeper comes by for his meals, there's a gardener, there's this guy who is like... in charge of the horses. The horse master, or whatever.”

“One guy rattles around in that enormodome?”

“At night, I guess, yeah?” Greg frowned. “I spent some summers here when I was a little kid. I got lost more than once.”

“How gothic.”

“No it's uh, it's pretty,” Greg said almost a little defensively. “it's just like hard to tell because it's dark out.”

They got out of the car, plastic bags of takeaway in hand and Mondale curiously trotting ahead, Greg punched in a code and locked them inside. Tom looked around curiously. On the inside the ranch was grand, but not ostentatious. There were large windows and high ceilings and folksy touches like a big bull skull hung to the wall, complete with horns, what looked like indigenous tapestry, long and quality looking rugs, large wooden furniture. 

Greg lit up the fireplace and they ate next to it, sharing a bottle of wine. Greg talked about Ewan, allowed Tom little snatches of his upbringing here, his history, his memories. When it was close to midnight Tom, having spent most of the day behind the wheel, was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open.

“I think I want to go to bed,” he finally yawned, giving up.

“No, um, I was just going to open another bottle.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Tom sighed. “find me a bed, Greg.”

Greg sat silently for a moment. “Would it be super weird if we slept in the same room? Like, logically, it wouldn't, right? We did in the motel and we were like neighbours in the cabin.”

Tom tilted his head a little.

“I just don't wanna be alone.”

“You're not,” Tom said. He nodded slowly. “alright, if you want.”

“Oh! Oh, cool, uh.”

Greg led them down a very long corridor and into a room, hit the light. It was immaculately made up with a very large kingsize bed, the same slightly folksy style as the rest of the house, a handmade quilt covering the bed.

“This is like the biggest bed in the house,” Greg said. “I used to sneak in to jump on it.”

“Jesus. Has it been slept in for the last thirty years?”

“Maybe not. But the houskeeper goes through all the linens, regularly changes and washes them anyway.”

“God,” Tom said. Greg had seemed pretty insulted when he'd suggested the house was creepy, something out of a fucking horror movie to tell you the truth, but how couldn't Greg see his granddad for the Quebecois curmudgeon Mrs Havisham he clearly was? Greg walked over to the bed, sat down on it. 

“It's like, so wide, I don't think we'll touch? But uh, if you want, there's a smaller bedroom down the hallway and maybe we could carry that bed in here?”

Tom shook his head. “This is fine.”

So Tom changed into his pajamas and Greg stripped down to his T-shirt and boxers and they pulled the heavy quilt off and Tom crept in under the covers. It was fucking cold. He looked up at Greg, who looked slightly unsure, tall and awkward in red briefs and a LaCoste T-shirt. Tom lifted the covers up, jerked his head. Greg smiled a little and then got in. He curled up on his side, looked at Tom. 

“Thanks,” he said in a thin voice.

“Don't mention it,” Tom said, feeling weird.

Mondale looked at them from the floor, then got up and jumped into bed, clearly wanting in on the whole communal sleeping situation. 

“Mondale,” Tom said sharply.

“Let him,” Greg said. “please. Just this once.”

Tom sighed, but honestly he didn't mind having his fairly large and imposing dog in bed in this weird old ranch, not to mention he was warm against his feet which were cold, and Greg seemed to visibly relax, having Tom there, and having Mondale there too. What an exhausting fucking day. He'd woken up in a Saratoga cabin, had a nice long walk, driven for hours, his former assistant and now potential business rival had gotten handsy in a car with him, and Tom had given him some spiel about not right now as if he'd ever considered a maybe later, and now Greg was looking at him with a soft gaze from the other side of a very wide bed. He suddenly got a very real desire to know what Shiv was doing right now. He wondered if it was weirder than this. 

“Goodnight, Tom,” Greg said.

“Goodnight, Greg.”


	7. Chapter 7

Outside the lumberjacks were cutting down all the trees with chainsaws. The chainsaws were old and had limited power. Their sound would rev up, then die down again to quiet. Greg was in a helicopter, flying above, seeing the towering trees fall, the chorus of chainsaws rising and falling. 

He blinked awake and realized the even drone was produced by Tom Wambsgans, sleeping deeply on the other side of the bed. He was snoring, open mouthed, head tilted to the side. Greg wondered if he should shake him awake, but then realized he kind of liked knowing what Tom sounded like in his sleep. There was a vast intimacy here which he still wasn't sure he was genuinely invited in on or more just a party crashing goon everybody was too polite to ask to leave. 

Tom looked peaceful, and really fucking handsome. Like, the dude was just, dreamy. If he wasn't so utterly fucking weird he'd be everyone who worked at Waystar's crush (Greg, having spent a fair amount of time on the “floor”, was aqcuainted with the general Tom consensus and it wasn't flattering). But Greg liked that he was. This way he could just be Greg's crush. 

He'd never really planned on acting on it, or telling anyone about it, least of all Tom, but the last few days had just been really confusing, especially after Tom said he'd left Shiv (fucking finally. It wasn't even that Greg was jealous, he just really hated seeing Tom so miserable in his relationship). It was like all his feelings and nerves were on the outside and he found himself saying and doing shit he generally had the good sense to keep to himself. But then again. It had got him this far. They'd almost kissed in the car and while Tom had pulled away he hadn't said he wasn't interested. In fact he'd kind of hinted maybe he was and he wanted to do this on the right terms? Which was pretty fucking exciting. It hadn't felt like a brush off, because while making out with Tom on a Montreal layby would have been literally a dream come true, like, Tom had been right. He was really fucking sad and messed up over his grandpa. That concern, that, like, emotional intelligence? was... like, it was kind of romantic? Greg couldn't remember any of his relationships, which were more like elongated hookups really, having all that much romance in them. But then again, he'd never been with someone as impressive, sophisticated and mature as Tom either. The thought that maybe he could be, and the thought that Tom would want to do it _right_ , wanted to be sure they were both in the right headspace, wanted to be _serious_ , was- was afraid of losing Greg? Those possibilities made his heart race. The fact that Tom was literally in bed with him right now made them seem a little less ridiculous than they would have been even a week ago. In bed with Tom. And Mondale. He shifted a little to look down on the dog who blinked awake. His tail started weakly wagging.

“Hey Mondale,” Greg whispered and the tail wagged harder, then the dog started crawling on its belly to fill the space between himself and Tom, paws under its head. Greg laughed. Mondale looked adorable and puppy-ish.

The even drone cut out and after a few moments Tom shifted, sighing.

“Mondale you idiot, you know you're not allowed,” Tom said drowsily, reaching out a hand to pet the dog and managing to land it right on Greg's hand where it was already busy stroking Mondale's fur. Tom made a confused noise then raised his head to look at him. He looked squinty and tired and his hair stood up and Greg felt a little like his heart would melt. “morning.”

“Morning,” Greg said, tried to keep his face neutral. Tom's hand slid away to scratch a little lower on Mondale's back, who sighed with pleasure.

“I'm so fucking tired,” Tom said in a slightly whiny tone of voice. “what time is it?”

Greg reached over to check his phone. “Only eight. Go back to sleep. I'll take Mondale for a walk.” At the W word Mondale got up, walked over them with hard heavy paws and jumped down on the floor, ready. Tom snorted with amusement.

“Knock yourself out.”

*

It had been a few years since Greg had spent any more time than just in passing at the Roy ranch. His grandpa never invited him and he never really thought to invite himself. But he'd spent a good few holidays here and his memories were nice. He kind of got carted around a lot as a kid, especially during holidays. His mom would take him with her when he got a little older and could be mollified with a game or whatever, but when he was a kid he'd usually get sent off to grandpa, to uncle Logan, one summer he'd been sent to the house of an old friend of his mom's he'd never met before. She was nice enough and had two kids around Greg's age and it was weird but fine. However his grandpa had really taken exception to it when he'd found out, he'd showed up in his car and picked him up after a week even though he was supposed to stay there for four. 

There weren't any kids around the Roy estate so he'd spent a lot of time playing on his own. The gardener, Pana, had let him help with simple tasks and spent some time with him, and had even managed to persuade his grandpa to let him build a small treehouse. He looked up and it was still there. He didn't really trust himself to climb up, let alone fit, these days, but the sight of it made him smile. He suddenly remembered Pana showing up with the treehouse in his truck and realized he'd probably built it on his own time and felt a pang. He wondered if he still worked for his grandpa? If he did he had to like, do something nice for him. He had no idea what that would be. He was going to have to think about it.

His phone rang and he looked at it. It was Kendall. 

“Uh, hey man!”

_”Hey. So, ah, what's the status?_

“Uh, with grandpa? Like, I saw him yesterday. He's still in a coma, he looked- man, Ken, it was hard to see him like that.”

_”Yeah, I get it, bro. So did the hospital give you any more deets, any...”_

“No, I'm going back today.”

_”Okay, great, yeah. And look man, I apologize for the way I phrased it last time, it was insensitive. But yeah, I still think, you should maybe look into ah, talking to his lawyers, maybe tryng to secure the seat.”_

“Ken-” 

_”Look, yeah, I know, I understand, right? But this is- man, we are making history here. And you know you will have a seat at the table. Look, Greg, how does COO sound?”_

“I kind of have a lot to think about right now. We uh we can talk after I've been to the hospital.” 

_”Yeah, dude, of course, I totally totally understand.”_ There was a pause. _”How are you?_

“I don't know? Not great?” Greg said. “But kind of- like there's all this other stuff happening too which-” 

_”Other stuff? What other stuff?”_

“Well, I don't know like uh. Well like uh Tom is here and that's just really helpful.” 

_”Yeah, yeah.”_

“He's just a really good guy to have around.” 

_”Yeah, he's a total stand up guy,”_ Kendall said in a slightly disinterested tone. 

“I think I'm in love with him.” 

There was a long silence, and when Kendall spoke again he sounded a little sharper. _“With who?”_

“With uh with Tom?”

_“Wait, did you say Tom? Tom who?”_

Greg frowned. “Tom. Tom-Tom. Shiv's Tom. Tom Wambsgans.” 

_“What?”_

“Uh, I think I may be in love with Tom. Wambsgans.” 

_“Why?”_

“Um,” Greg said. 

_“Tom Wambsgans?”_

“Yeah,” Greg said. 

_“Why?”_

"Like- like, what do you mean, why? Because uh, because uh I like him. He's, you know, he's smart, he's good-looking.” 

_“No, he's not.”_

“Like- that's like, subjective?” 

_“No, it's not,”_ Kendall said firmly. _“even as a heterosexual man I can appreciate that, I don't fucking know, Henry Cavill, or Armie Hammer, or whatever, are good looking guys. If either of them were sucking your dick I would high five you. Tom looks like a tired bloodhound in a suit.”_

“That's- no-” 

_"And, smart? Tom?”_ Kendall made a dismissive noise. _”Wait, why is he still up there with you? I thought he was just giving you a ride. In the automobile sense. Not the uh... Irish... slang...”_

“Huh? No, he's like, he's helping me out. Like, emotionally supporting me.” 

_”Okay? Does Shiv know about this emotional support?”_ He said the last two words in a very dismissive tone of voice. 

“Well they're not together anymore, so I wouldn't say it matters whether or not Shiv-” 

_”Hold up what. Who's not together anymore?”_

“Tom... and... Shiv? Wait, was that a secret?” 

_”Greg, I gotta go. Look, I'll call you back, soon. Um, talk to the lawyers. Okay, look, one question, and I cannot believe I am asking this, are you fucking Tom Wambsgans?”_

“No,” Greg said. “like. I haven't even told him, that I think I-” 

_”Good. Look, Greg, let's keep it that way for now. Maybe you should just send him back to New York. You've got this, right? Look, I really can't talk anymore, but uh, just, remember, the seat at the table, and uh, yeah, just, good luck, bro, and come back to NYC as soon as you can, okay?”_

“Okay,” Greg said. Kendall hung up. “should not have said that,” Greg said to himself in a singsong voice. “need to learn to keep your mouth shut, Greg.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Kendall Roy swiped his phone with a worry frown between his eyebrows. A foggy New York lay outside the clear glass windows of the borrowed office only four other people knew he was working from.

_“Hey, Ken. Still in the bunker?”_

“Hey, Rome. Look- did you know Shiv and Tom broke up?”

Roman Roy burst out in a high, amused-sounding laughter. _“No shit! Well, they lasted longer than I thought they would.”_

“You didn't know?”

_“No, I didn't. Really?”_

“Yeah, really. Does dad know?”

_“I have no idea,”_ Roman said. _“but I mean, at a guess, probably. You know what she's like.”_ He adopted a silly falsetto. _“Look at me, daddy. I'm sad, buy me a pony.”_

“Huh.”

_“How did you find out? Did she tell you?”_

“Greg told me. Tom drove him up to Canada to see Uncle Ewan.”

_“Oh yeah, RIP.”_

“He's not dead, Rome.”

_“He's not? Good news!”_

“Rome, do you think it's uh kind of weird Tom and Shiv break up and then he goes to Canada with Greg?”

_“No? Not really? They're like, in love with each other.”_

“What?” Kendall asked sharply. “Why do you say that?”

_“You know what I mean, they always hang out together. In a corner somewhere, looming.”_

“Okay,” Kendall said. “I mean, you don't think there's... something actually going on there?”

Roman laughed again. _“That would be hilarious. And also interesting. I've known Tom Wamb for two or three years now and I'm pretty sure he's not capable of being either. So no, I don't think there's something actually going on there. Why do you ask?”_

“Man, I don't know, I just think it's all kind of weird.”

_“I do remember Greg dating a dude in college and it being a whole thing, but like... Tom? I'm pretty sure his preferred position is through a hole in a sheet while reading a Reagan biography. Can you imagine him fucking? I can't.”_

“Yeah I don't – really want to.”

_“Yeah well, just saying, voted least likely to eat male ass in his office. So uh, like, should I like, do something for Shiv?”_

“What?”

_“I mean, I don't know the fucking protocol when your sister leaves her husband. I'm on the Hallmark website now. I think I'm gonna go with Congratulations On The Weight Loss.”_

“Okay, Rome. Look, I gotta go.”

_“Wait, Ken, wait, are you going to tell me-”_

Kendall Roy hung up, looked out at the view. He was currently engaged in the most difficult and precise operation of his adult life, even moreso than acquring Vaulter which he'd really fucking finessed, and he didn't need any weird dark horses in the race. He needed Greg on his side, he lent an air of credibility to the proceedings, he was family, he'd been exploited by the other forces of Waystar which he was going to try and publicly destroy – and of course, if Uncle Ewan did pass, he'd have a very important vote on the board. Greg had told him about the next of kin thing and he'd figured gaining Greg's loyalty would pay off in the long term, but maybe the term would be shorter than first envisioned. 

Because Greg had went off on a cross border road trip to visit his hospitalized grandfather. Then apparently Tom Wambsgans was driving him. And then apparently it turned out Greg harbored some kind of... romantic attachment to that loud Minnesota bumpkin? And _then_ it turned out Wambsgans was no longer with Shiv? Kendall had a really weird feeling about it all that he could not pinpoint, he could just hope all of this would work out in his favor. If you could say a good thing about Tom it was that he was loyal, god knows what Shiv had seen in him but the guy did have that going for him and Kendall had begrudgingly accepted him because of it – Tom supported her fully. Whether that was still the case though? He had no idea. And who did Shiv support? They'd talked, tersely, and briefly, in the days after the press conference. He knew she was sympathetic to his cause, generally.

But when it came down to it, he had no idea if she'd choose him over her father.

* * *

Greg made his way back into the ranch after walking outside with Mondale for close to an hour. He just needed to like, think. When he walked inside, something smelled good, and Mondale perked up, started briskly walking towards the kitchen, sniffing the air.

Tom was there, in a grey robe, sliding a pancake into an already decent-sized stack.

“Oh wow! You're uh making breakfast?”

“Yeah, figured I might as well.”

“Pancakes are my favourite,” Greg said.

“I know,” Tom replied, rolling his eyes. “I've watched you shove dozens of them into your face over the past couple of days. You're the Bermuda Triangle of pancake lore Greg. Sit down.”

Greg did and so did Mondale at the word “sit”, and the dog stared unblinkingly at Tom, who threw him a pancake which he caught, chewed and swallowed in the span of three seconds.

Tom gave him a plate with a stack and he'd already put a pot of coffee, a jug of maple syrup and a punnet of fresh raspberries on the table. Greg looked at him, handsome and casual in a T shirt and robe, his hair still sticking up a little haphazardly, sitting down opposite him and helping himself to coffee. Greg was struck by the desperate thought that this is what it could be like, all the time, all familiar and intimate and domestic like this. And he'd get to do all kinds of things. Walk up to him and kiss him and feel him up a little under his robe. He cleared his throat to clear his head. He'd always been a terrible daydreamer. He distributed berries over his stack and then cross-eyed poured over syrup. 

“Thanks for last night,” Greg said. “you didn't have to do that.”

“I was so creeped out by this place last night I probably would have gotten into bed with you anyway. But you're right. It's nicer in daylight.”

“It's super nice,” Greg insisted. “like, just walking around, I went down to the lake, I used to like sit there and look at the birds, and my old treehouse, and and like the stables? Mondale went like crazy, I could barely drag him away from the horses.”

“I used to go hiking with him a lot but he's mainly seen Central Park the last couple of years,” Tom said. “I'm sure he's having the time of his life.”

Greg grinned, tried the pancakes, then sighed. “These are so good.”

Tom shrugged, but his eyes twinkled.

Later they went back to the hospital, spent some time with an unconscious Ewan. Greg talked softly to him, held his hand. It felt odd. He couldn't ever remember holding his hand when he was like, conscious, even as a kid. It kind of had a non consenty vibe, but like, it was just his hand, and hopefully if his grandpa was in there somewhere it would be a comfort. Or something. All Greg knew was that if it was him there he'd like someone holding his hand. Anyone, really. 

He felt okay when they drove back to the ranch, not as fragile and upset as he had the night before. He found himself telling Tom all about his grandpa, how great he was on horseback, his activism and his little pet projects. All the stuff that had kind of bored him or he'd thought was corny suddenly seemed like essential pieces in the puzzle of Ewan Roy's life. Tom didn't press anything about contacting his grandpa's lawyers or making worst case arrangements or whatever and Greg was grateful. He just, didn't want to think about all that yet.

When it got dark they were down by the lake, and they'd managed to light a fire, they'd used some branches that were too wet and it got really smoky at first but then they'd managed to get rid of them, coughing and throwing them in the lake, and they'd consulted YouTube and now they had like a real, kind of, quality fire going, Tom and Greg one, nature zero. 

They'd brought a case of beers and were working their way through them. Greg looked over at Tom, handsomely illuminated by the flickers of flame, grinning and talking about his frat days, and Greg was kind of thinking about Tom in a football shirt and feeling a little flustered by that and the beer and like everything. 

Then, Tom burst out laughing. Greg smiled a little. “What?”

“God, I don't know, like the way you look at me some times, it's just- I don't know.”

“Um. Sorry?”

Tom laughed again. “No, it's okay. It's fine Greg. Like, it feels nice. Not used to being looked at like what I'm saying is actually remotely interesting.”

Greg's hand came back to thread through his hair. "I'm sorry," he said again, a little unsurely.

"It's okay, it's fine, it's great, a ha." Tom looked out over the water, and Greg looked at his handsome profile, his expressive eyebrows turning up and making him look sad and vulnerable. Tom grabbed a stick from the ground and threw it, and Mondale who was walking around and exploring jumped and ran for it. Greg swallowed, then used a hand to hoist himself up a little and move in closer, until he was sitting right next to Tom. Tom didn't really stir or really look at him. Which was like, that could be okay. So Greg gently brought up an arm around his shoulders and then Tom breathed in a very deep breath that made his shoulders rise and fall, and then he turned and leaned into Greg's body.

"God it's been a fucked up year," he said in a weak voice.

"Yeah," Greg said.

"Thought I was going to have it all. Ha ha."

"Yeah uh. It's been like, bad. Totally. And it's like not your fault, and you don't deserve it." Greg wasn't sure what they were talking about, but it seemed like a good thing to say.

"Thanks man," Tom said into Greg's blue T-shirt. 

Greg brought his free hand to Tom's cheek, tilted his face up a little. Tom nodded slightly, then he leaned up a little and Greg leaned down and when Tom kissed him back Greg felt like he burned ten times brighter than the fire.


	9. Chapter 9

Tom Wambsgans was losing his mind. Evidence A: he had left Shiv Roy, a woman so far out of his league they might as well be different species. Evidence B: he was currently kissing Greg Hirsch, who had a long gangly arm hooked around him and an enormous hand on his face, who apart from probably having overslept the morning of the sign ups to any kind of of league was a _guy_ and was related to his ex wife and was holding him like nobody had ever held him before, and there was nothing romantic about that it was just pure logistics, Greg's anatomy defied all human boundaries and oh god had he wanted to be wrapped up in his stupid Plastic Man arms like this all along was that why he hadn't been able to take his eyes off him the first time he'd seen him at Logan's party and jokingly come on to him the first time they'd been alone together oh god. Tom felt he'd handled it pretty well the first time Greg had come on to _him,_ in the car, his mouth had said all these things which sounded wise and logical and Greg had accepted the rejection without it getting weird, but it really had sent him into a “could I would I” spiral which he didn't actually have the answer to, but when Greg had asked him if they could sleep in the same bed he'd agreed, and when he'd woken up he'd just really felt like doing something nice for Greg and been delighted when he'd found Ewan's well-stocked pantry, and when Greg had come close again he had- wanted him there. And maybe this was just a mistake whose ramifications were still obscure. What had he said that time? That he hadn't wanted to do this “just because it felt good”. But god, it did feel good, it felt better than anything had felt in Tom Wambsgans' life in a very long while. It wasn't an elegant kiss, it was messy and wet and hungry, and it had literally been years since he'd been kissed like the world was ending and there were only two people left in it. 

When Tom pulled away for air Greg's lips were slick and his eyes were dark and his gaze was somehow both intense and inscrutable, but he slid his hand up to pet Tom's hair and Tom shifted and braced and leaned in with his full body weight until Greg took the hint and laid down on his back, and Tom laid down on top of him and they were kissing again, Greg was whimpering a little and he tasted like beer and then he did something really weird with his tongue. Tom pulled away.

“What are you doing?”

“Uhh-” even in the dark Tom could see Greg flush. “like I wanted to uh feel your tooth um.”

Tom laughed. “What? The crooked one?”

“Uhh yeah I uhh I like it.”

“God you're fucking bizarre,” Tom grinned. But he leaned in, still grinning, and Greg smiled with amusement when he understood and gently touched the tip of his tongue to it. 

“Yeah. It's like making out with David Bowie.”

Tom laughed again. Shiv had been on his ass to fix it but his dentist had said the best results would come with braces, and he figured he needed a little bit more time as an executive to build trust and respect before he started walking around the office with a fucking metal mouth. And he couldn't sleep with them, the nasal strips were enough facial hardware when he was trying to get a good night's rest. 

They kissed again and it was softer this time, already more familiar, and both Greg's long arms were around Tom's back and then he even hooked a leg across Tom's, bringing them closer, and Tom made a quite undignified sound when he realized how turned on both he and Greg were. He pulled away again.

“Come on, let's go back to the house. I'm not doing this outside in front of a dog like some kind of German.”

Greg nodded frantically and he got up and they used sand to put out the fire, and when it was out they called for Mondale and started walking up to the house, and Greg grabbed Tom's hand hard. They didn't say anything but it was a good silence, a good antocipatory silence, a silence masking all kinds of unsaid expectations and hopes and fears and it was just kind of fucking exciting. Then the silence shattered as Greg's phone went off. He fumbled for it with his free hand, frowned and answered.

“Hello? Uh yeah, that's me, uh hello- what? What!” Greg stopped in his tracks, let go of Tom's hand. “Uh when? What like- okay? Can I see him now? What? Oh my god, that's awesome. Thank you!” He hung up, put the phone back in his jacket pocket. “Grandpa is awake, and he's asking for me!”

“What! Oh my god,” Tom said, beaming, truly wondering why the old coot couldn't have been out for another hour or so, maybe twenty minutes even. 

“Yeah uh, we uh, they're going to let us in even though it's late because like, he's one of the patrons of the hospital and everything I guess and he wants to see me.”

Tom leaned in and gave Greg a hug and Greg hugged back tightly.

“I'm so glad you're here,” he whispered before letting Tom go.

*

The hospital was quiet when they arrived, it was well past visiting hours and meal times and probably a lot of the patients' bedtime. A nurse briskly walked ahead of them towards Ewan's private room.

They walked through the door and he looked surprisingly alert for someone who had just been out for what, four days now. He looked thin and sallow but his gaze was steely and he was slowly eating pieces of bread, dipping them in what looked like hummus and mayo, without assistance.

“Grandpa!” Greg said, grinned wide. Ewan looked up at him and then his eyes darted to Tom. 

“Pourquoi est ce con ici?” Ewan asked in a husky whisper.

“Il m'aide,” Greg said. He walked over, hovering a little, looked like he wanted to hug or touch but wasn't sure how to approach it when his grandpa was well, conscious. Tom felt a little pang again looking at him. “how- how are you feeling grandpa?”

“Like hammered shit,” Ewan said. “how did you get here?”

“We ah, we drove, grandpa. Got here as quick as we could.”

“Why didn't you fly? Would have been quicker.”

Greg looked a little crestfallen. “Because ah, to uh, to honor, you? Because you don't want me to like fly?”

Ewan coughed, a racking cough which shook his thin body. “I would like it if it could get through your skull that air travel is killing the planet. But you'll hop on my brother's private jet for a pizza run, and then when it comes time to see me on my death bed you'll take an extra couple of days about it? Typical.”

“Um- I just- tried-”

“Sir,” Tom cut in, stood next to Greg and touched the small of his back in a hopefully comforting gesture. “it really was done out of respect. Maybe, cut him some slack, a ha.”

“What are you doing here?” Ewan said, squinting at him. “Why aren't you with my niece. Your wife. Instead of feeling up my grandson.”

Tom pulled his hand away as if he'd been burnt. 

“I told you,” Greg said. “he's helping me out. And uh, he's helping you out to? By like, driving me here? So uh, sois sage.”

Ewan grumbled, but didn't answer. He brought another piece of bread to the hummus and then brought it to his mouth, chewing slowly. “Water,” he whispered to the nurse, who handed him a glass.

“I'm like, I'm so glad you're uh back with us,” Greg said. “like, you gave us a fright, grandpa!”

“Hm,” Ewan said. “well, it's good you're here.”

Greg's expressions were usually tiny and difficult to read but Tom glanced over at him and the way his lips parted and his eyes widened told him all he needed to know about how much just that little statement meant to him. He suddenly wondered if the Roy's relationship with affection mirrored their skill with finance. Create a market, withold goods, watch the stock rise. 

“You need to drive me to the ranch,” Ewan continued. “I'm not spending another fucking moment in hospital.”

“It's too early mister Roy,” the nurse said. “we already told you. We need to keep you here for observation, at least overnight, perferably for a few days.”

“My grandson will observe me.”

“Uh with all due respect grandpa, I am not, a health professional?”

“I'm not asking you to perform brain surgery on me, Greg.”

“You're a very silly and very selfish man, mister Roy,” the nurse who had ushered Tom and Greg in said in an even tone of voice and they both turned to stare at her. Tom had barely given her a second glance before now. She was a stout, native woman who looked to be in her fifties. Ewan gave her a death glare. “it's very late. You need to eat your dinner, and let us do our job and look after you, and your grandson and his friend will come back to see you in the morning and we'll talk again then.”

“Do you know who I am?” Ewan told her.

“Yes, and I'm grateful to you for the opinion piece you wrote in the paper protesting the planned pipeline through my tribe's land. Having a name like yours on our side was very helpful in the negotiations which led to the cancellation of the project. But now you need to listen to me, so we can have you around in case you can make yourself useful again.”

Then, something softened in Ewan's eyes, and he sighed. “Well, I'm tired anyway. I will accept one night of observation.”

“Okay, great,” Greg said, relieved. “well uh, see you in the morning, grandpa.”

“Don't be late,” Ewan said.

Tom and Greg managed to make it halfway down the hallway before they broke down in incredulous giggles.


	10. Chapter 10

“No, you can't come with. Go away. Go sleep.” 

Tom shoved Mondale out of the bedroom and the dog looked up at him, tilted his head. Tom closed the door. He looked over his shoulder at Greg, sitting on the bed and looking up at him, dark-eyed. Tom swallowed, walked over, sat next to him.

“Big day huh.”

“Yeah, hah.” Greg looked down. “Like, so much stuff happens all the time. It didn't use to be like this. Every day is like both five minutes and a month and uh...”

“I know what you mean,” Tom said. There was a silence.

“Hey, Tom.”

“Yeah Greg?”

“Would you kiss me?”

Tom turned to look at him and smiled.

“If I asked you to?” Greg said.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I get it. Ha ha.”

“If I told you to?”

“Find out, Greg.”

Greg smiled a little, and his hand came up to comb through his hair. “Kiss me?”

Tom leaned in and kissed him and it was a little shy at first, then both Greg's hands came up to rest at Tom's neck and his fingers were trembling a little. It felt kind of invigorating just... having an effect on someone like that? Which was probably why his hand slipped from where it was resting on Greg's knee up the soft inside of his thigh.

“Ah,” Greg said, surprised, pulling away.

“No?” Tom asked.

“Yeah,” Greg breathed, grabbed his hand and pulled it further in, kissed him again. Tom palmed Greg's dick through his pants, rubbing with the heel of his hand, pressing with the tips of his fingers. 

Then Greg pulled away, started unbuttoning his shirt, and then Tom started helping, unbuttoning from the bottom and then their hands met midway and Tom laughed and Greg leaned in and they kissed again while Tom pulled his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, leaving Greg in a white undershirt like- like the day in the cabin? He hadn't really lingered at the word at the time, but he'd looked- beautiful. 

“You too,” Greg said, and Tom pulled his sweater over his head, started blindly unbuttoning his shirt, head tilted up while Greg kissed him. It was getting a little more intense, a little harder and clumsier, and Greg's long fingers nimbly started unbuttoning Tom's jeans. It was weird, this was all unrushed but still keen, like the whole undressing each other thing was a whole event. By the time they were down to their underwear Tom was on his back, whimpering into Greg's mouth, thrusting up at his body, feeling both like he could do this for the rest of his life and also like if he didn't come soon he would probably have a brain aneurysm. Greg pulled away, raised himself up on his arms, palms flat on either side of Tom. Tom reached up, hands sliding down Greg’s chest. God, it was different. The flat planes of him, the bristle of little hairs. His mouth watered. Greg shifted to sitting on his legs next to him and hooked his thumbs in his briefs and pulled them down over his legs and then Tom was just, like naked, and desperately hard, in front of Greg, which seemed a pretty overly vulnerable position to be in so he leaned up on an elbow and started tugging at Greg's boxers. But Greg shied away a little, then leaned in, kissed him again. 

“Sit up,” Greg said in a husky voice.

So Tom did and Greg hovered over him, pressed his lips to his mouth and then to his neck and his collarbone and his chest and then licked a stripe down his belly and Tom held his breath- and then Greg kissed the inside of his thigh and then _sucked_ like he wanted to leave a bruise, or something, a signature, _Greg was here,_ both big hands on Tom's legs, and then, fucking finally, he grabbed the base of Tom's dick and started licking it, flat wet swipes up and then sort of swirling at the top and Tom gasped.

“Yeah I'm- I'm-”

“Not yet,” Greg said. “please.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tom said, grit his teeth, tried thinking about non sexy things. Clowns. Alf the Alien. Connor eating shrimp.

Greg took the head of Tom's dick in his mouth and Tom heard himself moan stupidly, and he pressed the back of his head into the headboard. Greg started bobbing his head down until his mouth met his hand and Tom reached out to grasp onto his mop of black hair, not pushing, just trying to fucking anchor himself onto something because he could not hold on much longer. 

“Greg, Greg, Greg ah, seriously I, I fucking-”

Greg pulled off, started jerking him off. “Yeah,” he whispered.

“Fuck,” Tom said in a choked voice, and came. 

Greg outright grinned at him, then moved away a little, picked up his shirt from the floor and wiped off his hand and his chest. 

“Good fucking god Greg,” Tom said. “hidden talents.”

Greg shrugged. Tom took another deep breath. 

“Get fucking naked, for crying out loud.” 

Greg bit his lip and then quickly pulled off his boxers and Tom leaned forward and grabbed him and sort of arranged them so they were sitting face to face, legs around each other. 

Tom reached down, grabbed Greg's dick and started slowly stroking. “What's wrong with you, it's not like you have anything to be ashamed of, jesus christ. Look at you. Iron giant.” 

Greg laughed a soft, stuttery laugh. He leaned into a tight embrace, bumped his mouth to Tom's, breathing heavy. Tom kissed him, grinned. “It's real nice, Greg. Maybe I'll let you put it in me, would you like that?” God, what the fuck was he saying.

“Uh huh” Greg said and kissed him deep, whimpering and trembling a little and then he gasped against Tom's face and came hotly all over his hand. Tom gently kissed his cheek and Greg tightened his grip around him, buried his face in the crook of Tom's neck.

“This is really cute,” Tom said softly after a couple of moments. “but I feel like I just lost an armwrestling match with Slimer and I want to clean up.”

Greg laughed. “What?”

A little later they were lying close and Greg was giving him that intense serious look again, slowly trailing fingertips down his body.

“Happy?” Tom asked Greg. He reached up to thumb the little mole over his top lip. It was cute.

“Yeah,” Greg said.

“You're so quiet. Talk to me, Gregory.”

“Just kinda... overwhelmed right now?” Greg said, smiling a little shyly. “I didn't like... I never thought it would feel like, this romantic.”

“Ha,” Tom said, amused.

“It was like a wedding night or something,” Greg said, grinning.

“No, it wasn't,” Tom said.

“Um, sorry, I didn't mean like, I was just like, joking.”

Tom sighed. “On my wedding night my wife told me I wasn't enough for her and then we had a quickie while I tried not to cry. This was nicer, put it like that.”

Greg leaned in, kissed Tom's neck and his jaw and the corner of his mouth, until the sting of the memory disappeared. 

* * *

Tom woke up from someone stroking his arm, and he blinked and focused on Greg's face.

“Hey, morning.”

“Hey,” Tom said a little drowsily.

“Sorry to like wake you up but we should probably maybe get up, it's like ten.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. I promised grandpa I'd be there at like noon, so uh.”

“Mmmm,” Tom sighed, drew him close. “well, that gives us another good fifteen minutes in bed, right?”

Greg giggled.

Closer to half an hour later they trailed into the kitchen, Tom intent on dazzling Greg with a morning after breakfast. French toast. He was doing french toast. With one of Ewan's weirdo plant milks. Mondale was lying on the kitchen floor, curled up.

“Hey Mondale,” Tom told the dog cheerfully, but he just raised his head, looked at him, then laid it back down, sighing. Tom frowned. “what the fuck?”

Greg laughed. “He's mad.”

“What?”

“You know, because we didn't let him in the bedroom.”

Tom's mouth fell open. “What? It's been like a couple of days he's been allowed. He's used to the fucking crate.”

Greg shrugged.

“Unbelievable.” He looked over at the dog, who was still demonstratively looking away.

“He'll get over it,” Greg said. “we'll bribe him with some chicken or something later. Get back in his good graces.”

“So do we have a strategy for the hospital?” Tom asked, started going through Ewan's pantry. 

“God, I don't know,” Greg said. “like, maybe we should just let that nurse wrangle him.”

Tom laughed. His phone buzzed. He looked at it. It was a text from Logan that just said _Status?_ Tom sucked his teeth and put the phone back in his pocket.


	11. Chapter 11

When Tom and Greg made it to the hospital they could hear Ewan, agitated, from his room. Greg frowned and they opened the door, where a nurse was giving him a sponge bath. 

“Oh, shit,” Greg said. “uh sorry grandpa-” He quickly closed the door.

“Greg? Greg! I want my grandson! I want my grandson!” they could hear Ewan call from inside. Greg's eyes widened in fear.

“It's okay,” Tom said, touched his elbow. “it's just your grandpa, and he's old and messed up and he needs you. I'll be right here.”

Greg bit his lip, nodded a little, visibly took a breath and walked inside. 

Tom walked over to a settee in the hallway, sat down. God, ageing, what a mistake. His parents had been young when they'd had him and the older he got, the more he realized how fucking lucky that made him. All the time they'd get together and the longer he'd get to put off this shit. He'd seen the toll it had taken on his mom when her parents had passed, his grandfather only five months after his grandmother. The pain and the work and the helplessness. He frowned. Greg's mom really was a selfish fucking coward, passing this over on him. He shouldn't have to deal with this at – wait, how the fuck old was Greg? He should probably find out. Especially if they were going to be – whatever the fuck they were going to be. Was he really going to have a real actual thing going with Gregory fucking Hirsch? Tom sighed. Maybe Shiv was right. Maybe he should try therapy.

He got his phone out, started scrolling the news. Then his phone started chiming. God. Logan Roy. He'd been avoiding his texts and calls. It felt kind of good, ghosting Logan. And especially good because it _was_ Logan, not some flunky or underling or other plebe Logan considered low enough to address Tom. Fathoms beneath Shiv, he'd called him once. His thumb hovered over his phone, considering a rejection. Then he swallowed, answered.

“Hello.”

_”Oh, his highness deigns to answer! What the fuck do you think you're doing, Tom? Who the fuck do you think you are?”_

Something bristled in Tom. This whole arrangement was incredibly stupid. He'd realized very quickly he missed a lot of things about Shiv. But god, there were a lot of things he just did not miss at all, her father being one. And what power did he really have over him? That whole spiel about Tom being a little cog in a big machine. As if Logan Roy could exaggerate Tom's hapless, accidental guilt without making himself look even guiltier by association. Now he wasn't in Logan Roy's sphere he couldn't find it in him to feel all scared and impressed by that old, mean, manipulative bastard, who couldn't even be bothered to visit his dying brother. Tom had always wanted a sibling growing up. Logan and Ewan just threw their good fortune out the window. “I'm at the hospital right now, where your brother is,” Tom answered curtly.

There was a silence.

_“Any change?”_

Tom sighed. Regardless of Logan and Kendall's power play, despite their own fucked up relationship, Ewan _was_ Logan's brother, and Logan – barely – deserved to know. “Yeah, he's awake. We talked to him yesterday. Me and Greg.”

_“Hm. Marianne there?”_

“No.”

_“Hm. Useless woman.”_

“When will I be seeing you here, Logan?” Tom asked.

There was another silence. 

_”How is he?”_

“I don't know, I'm waiting outside right now. Greg is with him. He was lucid last night, wanted to go home right away.”

 _“Hm,”_ Logan said again, but it had a note of approval this time, or recognition maybe.

“Well, great chatting, as always,” Tom said. “but I-

_“Wait, hold your fucking horses. Are you going back to New York?”_

“No,” Tom said. He cleared his throat. “not right away.”

_”Ewan voted with me against Kendall's little act of treason before. I'd like you to find out if he'll do it again.”_

“Why don't you ask him yourself?” Tom asked. Logan hung up, and Tom frowned at his phone.

The door opened, and Greg stepped out, walked over to sit next to Tom. “Hey buddy, you okay?” Tom asked, putting his phone away. 

“Yeah. Yeah uh wow. Like he calmed down a lot when I got in there and like let her finish up. I just like helped dress him. Jesus Christ. Like, I think like, what he had an issue with, is- I mean, just like, feeling powerless or helpless or whatever?” He turned and stared at Tom. “I'm not sure I can do this.”

Tom reached out to rub Greg's back, then let his hand come up to gently rest at the back of his neck. “Well, that's what's great about having money, Greg. You can outsource this shit. We'll find someone.”

Greg looked like he thought hard. “Do you think we could get that lady from last night?”

Tom shrugged. “Wouldn't hurt to ask her. Hey, why don't I go down to reception and get her name.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Greg audibly exhaled. Then, quickly, he leaned in, kissed Tom's mouth. “Really, thanks.”

“It's okay,” Tom said, a little surprised. “it's not a big deal.”

“It's actually like a huge fucking deal,” Greg said, then braced himself, got up, and walked back inside.

Tom walked down to reception, turned on the charm, got the nurse's name, and her number, called her up right away because why dawdle, she tried to brush him off at first but after he'd promised to triple whatever the fuck she was making at the hospital she'd gone a little quiet and told him she'd get back to him. As always, money talked. He went in the car and leashed Mondale, let him sniff the greenery outside the hospital. His tail was wagging and apparently Tom was forgiven for banishing him from the bedroom. Good, because he was going to have to get used to it.

“Tom,” he heard Greg say and he turned and there he was, wheeling Ewan in a wheelchair. Ewan looked thin and dignified in tweed, a flat cap on his head and a scarf around his neck. 

“Let me out of this fucking thing,” Ewan said. “Greg.”

Greg helped Ewan up and took his arm, and Ewan held on to it, looked on in a chilly way while the nurse that had been trailing behind them took the wheelchair away. 

“Good morning sir! You're looking well,” Tom said, grinning.

“Hm,” Ewan replied, like an echo of his brother, then his eyes flicked down and he tilted his head a little. “you have a dog.”

“Uh, yes sir, but he's very well behaved and-”

“What is his name?”

“Um, Mondale.”

Ewan's lips twitched in amusement for just a micro-second, and in that flash he didn't remind Tom of Logan – he reminded him of Greg. “For Walter Mondale? I knew him, a little, back in the seventies. Decent man. Exciting ticket, first woman vice presidential nominee. But as the American people have proved again and again, they prefer vapid snake oil salesmen to progress. _Entertainers._ ” He almost spat the last word.

“Um,” Tom said.

“Hello Mondale,” Ewan said, leaned down a little, Greg holding onto him, and reached out a hand. Mondale sniffed it then gave it a lick. Ewan actually smiled then. Tom was pretty sure he hadn't seen that particular expression on the man's face before But it was like Tom always said, really. Even Hitler liked dogs.

“So uh, sir, you're getting some fresh air, that's-”

“I am going home,” Ewan announced. “I hate hospitals. They stink of death and disease.”

Greg made a face at Tom which looked a little apologetic.

“Well,” Tom said, smoothly. “the car is right over here.”

“Hm,” Ewan said. “I shall ride in the back. With Mondale.”

*

The rest of the day was pretty weird. They drove back, Greg talking to Ewan, Ewan announced he wanted to read in his sitting room so Greg found him a blanket and whatever the fuck book he was talking about, and Tom volunteered to cook. He was a good cook, really, maybe not as good as his dad but pretty decent, and it was something useful to do. In the afternoon some guy stopped by from the hospital and checked up on Ewan, took his blood pressure, talked quietly with Greg for a few moments. After he'd gone, Greg came into the kitchen.

“Almost ready,” Tom said. “get your grandpa.”

Instead of turning back around, Greg came over, wrapped both arms around Tom from behind, placed his chin on Tom's shoulder. It struck Tom again how weirdly exciting it was to have Greg's long arms around him like this. God. It really shouldn't feel this good being held like a fucking orangutan's baby. He tilted his face and looked over his shoulder at Greg, and parted his lips a little-

“Hmm-hmm,” Ewan cleared his throat, leaning on a cane and glaring at them. Greg let go of Tom quick, looked a little flustered.

“Ah, dinner's just about ready,” Tom said. “just uh, sit down, gentlemen.”

The dinner passed pleasantly enough, Ewan didn't say much but ate as slowly and meticulously as he'd done at the hospital, and Tom took the lack of complaints as a compliment. Since all of the cookbooks on the shelf in Ewan's kitchen were vegetarian he'd decided to go meat free, cooking a stew out of Ottolenghi with some easy buttermilk biscuits on the side. 

“I like your dog,” Ewan told Tom, as if Tom hadn't been able to work that out from Ewan passing half of the biscuits along to him during the meal. “if Mondale would like, he may sleep in my room tonight. I like to sleep with a fire on, which I think he will enjoy, and there is a lot of room. However, I am not his owner, and furthermore, I believe in the individual's free will, so if you or Mondale does not prefer it then I will respect this.”

“Uh- no, no, that's fine,” Tom said, surprised.

“Are you sleeping in your room, Greg?” Ewan asked.

“Uhh, no, actually, the uh, the guest room with the Nuniamut quilt.”

“Ah,” Ewan said. “well, perhaps you should relocate to your room. Tom, I would like to offer you the summer room. It is, I like to think, my loveliest guest room. You will be the first to catch the sun in the morning. Show him, Greg.”

“Uh, okay.”

A little later Ewan announced he was tired and Greg helped him get ready while Tom, with new found skill, lit the fire in his fireplace. Mondale circled curiously, stepping experimentally onto the bearskin in front of the fireplace. 

After they'd bid him goodnight they walked down the long corridor. “So uh, the summer room?”

Even in the low light of the evening Greg's eye roll was plainly visible. “My old room is in the west wing, the summer room is like the farthest away in the east wing. He's just being a jerk.”

“Oh,” Tom said.

“I think we're like, fine where we are,” Greg said and slipped a big hand into Tom's.


	12. Chapter 12

The quiet. Now there was a commodity you couldn't buy in New York City, no matter how rich you were. The Roy Ranch fifteen miles outside Quebec was another world at night, compared to what Tom was used to. No light pollution, meaning it was literally, literally dark – unless, like tonight, the sky was clear, and the bright stars produced enough light for Tom to make out Greg's features. He was lying in the crook of Tom's arm, arranging his long limbs to lie close and easy. And it was so, so quiet. No traffic, no voices, no sudden jarring car alarms. Like they were on the fucking moon or something. On cue, Tom heard an owl hoot outside. 

Tom had expected Greg would be so exhausted from the day he'd had, trying to keep his grandpa happy, he'd just pass out the moment they got into bed. Instead he'd watched Tom undress, all, like, intently, told him “you don't need that” when he'd tried to put his pajamas on, and it really was some kind of energy booster just, being openly _wanted._ He'd never particularly thought he'd have a problem finding someone after Shiv, Jane Austen had been right about universally acknowledged truths for two hundred years or so now, but in his heart of hearts he really hadn't been sure he'd be able to find what it was he really wanted – someone who was just honest to god into _him,_ not his money or his resume or connection to the Roys, fraught as it may be. But Greg really seemed to like him, want him, against all fucking reason and for no imaginable ulterior motive. So they'd fallen together again, getting each other off with mouths and hands and long clever fingers. And now Greg was clinging to him like a giraffe raised by koalas. In the quiet, in the dark. And it just felt pretty fucking great, all of it. Weird, but great.

“How old are you?” Tom asked, suddenly.

“Uhh- twenty eight? Why?”

“Jesus.” 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Tom said. He sighed. “hey, who would have thought it, huh? You and me?” He laughed. “I mean, don't get me wrong, I am having a _lot_ of fun, but I didn't really see this one coming.”

“I actually thought, like,” Greg said, a little hesitantly, clearly trying to phrase something sensitively. “like, I did think, maybe on some level, you were into me? Like it was kind of hard to tell, but uh, some of the things you said to me...”

Tom cleared his throat. He'd never had a particularly functional brain-to-mouth filter. “I say a lot of stuff, Greg.” He turned his face, his nose bumping into Greg's forehead. “However. I do know. That from the first time I saw you I found it hard to look away.”

“Yeah?” Greg said, his voice very soft.

“Mmhmm. I just... didn't realize... it was because I wanted this. I thought...” Tom sighed, a deep sigh that filled his chest. “I don't know what I fucking thought.”

Greg leaned in even closer, his hand travelling up Tom's chest, combing through the hair there, then his fingers idly started playing with one of Tom's nipples, and it stiffened under his touch. Tom could hear Greg's breath hitch in the silence. A thing he'd been thinking a lot about when it was just him and Mondale in the AirBnB and he had all the time in the world to lick his wounds, was the insidious and weird little ways Shiv would make fun of him for wanting her, for responding to her incredible body. He'd written it off as just banter, had laughed along, but it hadn't felt great. This though? 

“Come here,” Tom said and Greg shifted a little on his elbow until they were level and a sweet kiss soon turned breathless. 

*

When Tom woke up Greg was still clutching at him, limbs heavy with sleep, but he disentangled them, got up and went off to find a bathroom. He called quietly for Mondale, decided to go see if he was still in Ewan's room, when he heard the radio playing. He followed the noise into the kitchen, where Ewan was sitting in a thick robe, pajamas and slippers, drinking tea and reading a magazine without pictures. Mondale was lying on the floor next to him, but at the sight of Tom he got up, tail wagging, greeting him.

“Oh, you're up already,” Tom said, surprised, rubbing Mondale's head. 

“I always wake around five.” 

“Okay. How are you feeling?”

Ewan gave him a look. “Under the circumstances? Adequate.”

“Can I um, can I help you with something?”

Ewan looked absently out the window. “No. I need to contact my employees, but it can wait until Greg is up.”

“Oh. Ah. Well, I thought I'd um, walk the dog, so...”

“Was the summer room comfortable enough for you?”

“Um- yes, aha, yes it was, most comfortable sir!”

“Some find it inconducive to sleep that it is decorated entirely in red.”

“Oh uh, not a problem for me. I like red. Different. Strong.”

Ewan shot him another look. “The summer room is green.”

Tom blinked. “Oh- uh, well, uh, it was dark when I got there, I uh, yeah, green, when you mention it.”

“I don't suppose my grandson retired to his own room, either.”

“Ahh,” Tom said, uncomfortable, hoped his face was making a placating expression.

“I don't have a problem with my grandson being a homosexual,” Ewan said. “I did have a problem with my son-in-law being one, as he had the indecency to go ahead and marry my daughter irrespective of that fact. Gold digging little grifter.”

In spite of himself, Tom perked with interest. “Where is he now? Greg never mentions him.”

“Dead,” Ewan said. “good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“Ah.”

“I was saying. I don't disapprove of Greg, but I do disapprove of him taking up relations with a married man who is old enough to be his father.” Ewan looked him right in the eye, unblinking.

“Well uh-” Tom felt himself flush. “there's only fourteen years between us – I suppose in some flyover states that uh- but no- and uh- I'm actually separated.”

Ewan paused a little. “Since when?”

“Since ahhh about three weeks ago. Formally. But my marriage has been dead for a lot longer than that.” Tom made a pained grimace. “Not sure it ever really got going, to tell you the truth.”

“Did Greg have something to do with your separation?”

Tom's eyebrows shot upwards. “Oh god no. Jesus. This is all, ah, new.” Tom cleared his throat. “I loved Shiv, mister Roy. I never wanted it to come to this. But we wanted different things. And honestly? It's new and early days and maybe doomed for all the reasons you mentioned but I think maybe me and Greg want the same things.” He looked down. “Even before all of this, he used to be the only person I talked to during the day that always made me smile. That I always looked forward to seeing.” Tom frowned. He realized how embarrassingly true it was even as he said it, but he wondered why the hell he was he was flopping over on his back trying to win Ewan fucking Roy's approval. As if he'd have to ask the grumpy old coot for Greg's frying pan sized hand. 

Ewan looked at him, with the same sort of steely inscrutable intensity Greg did some times, and then his demeanor seemed to relax a little and he reached out for his tea, sipped it.

“Happiness is a rare and fleeting feeling,” Ewan said. “a loyal dog can make you happy. Fresh bread, right out of the oven and smeared with good butter. Crisp fall weather. I came early to not expect much more than that out of life, and I didn't get it either.” He sighed. “There are times I wish I'd aimed higher.”

Only a couple of years earlier he wouldn't have been able to take someone with Ewan Roy's net worth and standing claiming he hadn't aimed high enough in life seriously. He wasn't delusional enough to think money could buy happiness, but he certainly had assumed happiness would be a natural auxiliary. If you didn't have to worry about the day to day shit and you didn't have to deny yourself anything, why should you be unhappy? God, he'd been naive. 

He'd been happy playing soccer with his friends in school. He'd been happy when Kate Madison in Legal in his first City job said she'd go out with him and when they'd kissed in Central Park, drunk and young and laughing. He'd been happy the day he took Mondale home, an eight week old puppy who kept nosing at his chest for comfort and with legs too long for him to fully coordinate and his heart had felt like it would burst knowing he was responsible for this baby. 

He'd been happy when Greg had put both arms around him and looked at him like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky.

Exactly zero of those things were linked to the size of his bank account. He could literally have been a fucking bricklayer or a bus driver and he could still have had the same sweetest moments in his life. He got what Ewan was saying, and the unwelcome urge to impress turned into a sort of empathy.

“Hey ah, morning,” Greg's voice said and Tom turned around to see him trail in. Tom's lips twitched into a smile when he realized he was wearing his grey cardigan again. “everything uh, everything cool?”

“Yeah Greg,” Tom said. “thought I'd make us breakfast. How do pancakes sound?”

* * *

The days passed and they all fell into a sort of routine. Tom didn't ask Greg on how long he planned on staying, and Greg didn't ask him either. The nurse who had managed to calm Ewan down that first night was named Rita and had arranged a month's leave from her job at the hospital, showed up with a small packed bag and was installed into the bedroom next to Ewan's. He grumbled a little but once he realized he could talk preservational causes with her he didn't protest. The housekeeper, Betty, returned, and she cooked most of their meals although Tom kept cooking breakfast. Mondale, either through instinct of being needed or just old fashioned biscuit-based bribery, became a natural companion to Ewan, sleeping at his feet while he read, following him slowly and considerately on the short walks Rita took him on, aided by his cane. There was a sort of life in the old house and it seemed to awaken a little in response to it, seemed a little brighter and friendlier. 

If it hadn't been for Logan Roy texting him every other day, it would really feel like Tom had started a new life.

One day Tom was lying on his back on a sofa, reading one of Ewan's books, when Greg came in, sat down sideways to face him, looming over him with an eager smile on his face.

“What?” Tom asked, felt himself smile back in response.

“Hey Tom, I had a thought.”

“Oh well done Greg.”

“Like-- what if we, like, went away?”

Tom frowned. “You wanna go back to New York?”

Greg looked confused. “Huh? No, I mean, I just meant for like, a couple days. I thought maybe, we could go up to the Laurentides, go hiking, rent a cabin.” His hand came up to play in Tom's sweater. “What do you say?”

Tom covered Greg's hand with his own, stilling it. “What about your grandpa?”

Greg shrugged. “He's got Rita and Betty, he's fine. We could leave Mondale with him too. Pretty sure he likes the dog more than either of us anyway. And like, it's just a couple days. I just thought it might be fun?” He grinned. “To have you all to myself?”

“Okay,” Tom said. “sounds good.”

Greg beamed at him. “Cool! Cool. I'll go talk to, uh.”

Greg got up and Tom looked after him a little, his long, lean body, his coltish gait. Then sudddenly Greg turned. "Like, also, there's some stuff I'd like to discuss with you in complete uh discretionary privacy? So maybe we can do that then."

Tom frowned. "Sure, Greg."


	13. Chapter 13

Already the next day they were on their way, having arranged everything with Ewan's nurse and housekeeper and assuring Ewan they'd be gone only two, max three days when he'd looked at them crest-fallen, asking how he was supposed to run the house on his own in a pitiful voice. (He had been placated when Tom had asked him if he'd be okay with looking after Mondale while they were away.) They'd packed some things and then driven off in Tom's car, driving through Quebec and up towards the Laurentides, passing stunning natural vistas, cute small villages, stopping in one for lunch. Tom had been a little sarcastic about the look of the random little restaurant they'd parked next too but he'd ordered the baked chevre with maple syrup and looked kind of floored when he ate it. He'd also openly like _stared_ at Greg when he ordered in French which felt pretty fucking awesome. Greg had looked at the map on his phone and booked a really cute cottage a few more miles of driving away, and that was where they were headed now. Tom looked at photos of the simple kitchen, tried figuring out what kind of food he could prepare in it and wrote a shopping list in his Notes app, nagging Greg for the best and freshest brand of maple syrup, like they'd had in that restaurant, as if Greg was some kind of syrup sommelier.

It was getting darker, the sun was setting and they could probably measure what was left of that day's light in minutes. Tom's choice of Joe Cocker played out (fucking finally... Greg could deal with most of Tom's corny 80s music but that dude's voice could saw through wood) and it was his turn to choose. He swiped the selections of his pre-saved Spotify library until he got to Victoria Monet, turned it on. After having had to listen to that Cocker dude the sound of her voice felt like taking a warm bath.

“You already played me this,” Tom said.

“Yeah, uh, I love it.”

“It's pretty nice, I guess,” Tom said, clearly making an attempt and Greg grinned at him. 

It was easy, boring driving, the trees limiting the sightlines and other traffic basically non existent. The last car they'd met had been something like twenty minutes ago. It made Greg happy to live in New York. Rural living definitely had its charms, but constantly having the option to walk into a city that was always awake and ready for action was definitely the better day-to-day option. He was really happy Tom was with him on this whole, like, mission. He'd probably have been pretty stressed out with the whole grandpa situation and Kendall situation and everything if he'd had to do this on his own, so far away from the apartment and the city he'd come to know as home.

“We close?” Greg asked. Tom consulted his phone.

“Another half an hour. Barely.”

“It's like we're the only people driving in all of Canada.”

“Hmm.”

The final notes of Moment played out. God, that song was fucking hot. Greg glanced over at Tom again. He was pretty fucking hot, too. He bit his lip, then changed gears and drove the car onto a tractor track in a makeshift layby. Tom frowned. 

“Why are we stopping.”

Greg reached out to grab the back of Tom's head and pulled him in for a kiss. He smiled at first, not really responding, then he nodded and parted his lips and they met on a breath and it was so fucking perfect. Greg tilted his face a little to come closer, moaned a little when Tom's tongue softly swiped at his. 

“Tom,” he said, and he heard his own voice go all reverent. He didn't want to tell Tom he loved him. Like, okay maybe they'd known each other for two years but they'd only been like, dating or whatever this was for a couple of weeks or so and it was definitely too soon, plus Tom was just coming out of a really serious relationship and probably didn't need to hear something heavy like that, and yeah. But he did, though, he fucking did, and even if he didn't want to say it he hoped Tom kind of knew it anyway from the way he said his name.

Tom grinned at him, his bright Kewpie doll eyes beaming. “Greg, you walking boner. What, you want a car bang, is that it?”

Greg just nodded. Yes, that was exactly what he wanted.

“Ha-ha, sure thing, _I_ will give _you_ a handy job and we will be there with-” he looked at his watch. “around a five minute delay, ample time to find a grocery store before closing hours.” He reached down for Greg's jeans, started fiddling with the button. Greg covered his hand, pushed it away.

“Actually I was thinking more, like, maybe we could go in the back seat.”

A worry frown appeared between Tom's eyebrows. “That sounds like it will take more than five minutes.”

Greg nodded again, leaned in for another kiss and maybe the music had some effect on Tom too because when Greg pulled away, lips slick and breath heavy and already so hard, he didn't look worried anymore, just raised his eyebrows.

The backseat of Tom's car was pretty roomy but definitely not roomy enough for two six foot plus men to comfortably maneuvre so Greg just opened the door to the back, the one that didn't face the road, and gently directed Tom to sit down, legs sticking out. He leaned back a little on the seat, half-lying down on his elbows, watched as Greg got to his knees in front of him on the cold ground, unbuttoning Tom's pants and pulling them down, down to his knees-

“What are you doing?”

“Um, undressing you?”

“What? No. That's not necessary.”

Greg didn't stop pulling, but he slowed down considerably. “Please, Tom. Come on. You're so sexy. Please.”

Tom squinted at him. “You sound like me on a date in college.”

Greg laughed. “Come on, Tom. All the other girls do it.”

“All the other girls are sluts, then,” Tom said, but his pants were already past his knees now and Greg kept pulling. Then he leaned in, wetly swiped his tongue over the fabric of Tom's underwear where his erection was making an obvious bulge and Tom's head fell back a little and his mouth opened.

“Yeah but you wanna,” Greg said. “you're like, all wet for me.”

“Doesn't- uh- matter. Gotta give me a ring first, Greg.” 

“I totally will, if you want me to,” Greg said, suddenly sounding way too sincere for the joke. Tom maybe picked up on it, because he tilted his head with a slightly quizzical look on his face, then smiled mildly and just raised his hips, let Greg pull his underwear down too and then Greg quickly pulled off his shoes and then both his pants and underwear down over his feet, neatly folding them up and putting them over the back of the backseat. Tom rucked his shirt up, almost to his ribs.

“We're gonna traumatize a moose,” Tom said, looking around at the still thankfully deserted street.

“Shh,” Greg said, spat in his hand and quickly stroked Tom to full before guiding his dick into his mouth.

He fell into an easy rhythm as he sucked Tom's dick, he'd become pretty intimately acquainted with the length and girth and weight of it over the last few days and he'd even started learning what kinds of moves Tom liked. He let his tongue dance over the shaft as he moved his head up and down and Tom whimpered, a noise that had already become familiar in a not-long-to-go way. Greg pulled off, gently kissed the head, and smiled at him.

“Greg if you don't put that fucking thing back in your mouth.”

“There's somewhere else I'd like to kiss you.”

Tom's eyebrows raised again. “Um.”

“Think you can like, just lie back, like flat?”

Tom sighed. “You'll be the fucking death of me.”

But he did, he laid back, and Greg gently pushed Tom's knees back until they were almost touching his chest and Tom grabbed a hold of his legs and then he was lying there folded up and exposed in the back of the car and Greg took a deep breath of cool evening air to clear his head because he honestly might come in his pants from just the fucking sight. He got back down on his knees on the ground and swiped his tongue over Tom's butthole and Tom just said in a choked voice, “Good fucking god Greg.”

In a while he'd worked in his tongue and then two spit slick digits and Tom's thighs were trembling, his breath heavy and erratic and his dick hard and red on his stomach. 

“Can I?” Greg asked, kissed the inside of his thigh.

“Mmrrrgh” Tom said. They hadn't actually done this yet. They'd talked about it and Tom had said he was definitely open, had sort of hinted maybe he'd tried penetration with Shiv with well presumably toys of some kind but he'd gone kind of red in the face and looked a little mortified when he was talking about it so Greg had found it kinder to change the subject.

“Um, was that a yes?”

“Yes Gregory Hirsch I formally invite you to fuck me jesus christ,” Tom said, the sarcasm of the words sanded down by the thinness of his voice.

Greg took a deep breath and unbuttoned his jeans, got his hard dick out, watched Tom watch him. His mouth felt dry but he swiped his tongue around in it, then spat in his hand and stroked himself wet, before guiding himself to Tom, slowly, slowly pushing in. Tom gasped, shifted a little.

“Okay?”

“Fine uh fine just, jesus christ, go slow.”

Greg ducked his head and leaned into the car, hovering over Tom, bracing himself on one arm and using his free hand to stroke Tom's dick. Tom's face was great in a lot of ways but its most pronounced virtue was that it was incredibly easy to read, and Greg could see pleasure mingled with the discomfort and by the time he was all the way inside and by the time he'd started thrusting in earnest the discomfort appeared to have almost given way completely to the pleasure. They fucked looking into each others eyes, moaning unabashedly, until Tom closed his eyes and started thrusting back a little erratically and then he gasped and came, streaking his own stomach. Greg stared, burning the image into his memory, and then he got a little reckless, thrusting harder into Tom. Tom just moaned and Greg realized how close he was and his last active brain cell made him pull out, take himself in hand and start rapidly stroking. But then Tom literally fucking slapped his hand away, took his dick in his own, dry hand, and started jerking him off quickly, leaning up on an elbow.

“Close?”

“Yeah,” Greg managed to whimper.

“Good, come on, come on, you too, come on-”

“Uhh” Greg said and came over Tom's naked stomach.

“Oh, attaboy, Greg!” Tom said in a delighted voice.

“Uhh,” Greg said, and slumped forwards and into the backseat of the car, over Tom. It felt like all the bones in his body had been replaced with sand.

“No, no,” Tom said, trying to push him away, but gravity kind of just did its thing and then Greg was lying flush on top of him, catching his breath, face buried where Tom's neck met his shoulder. Tom patted his back, kind of hard.

“Okay, this was hot two minutes ago, now it's fucking gross. Get off me right now, or we'll be glued together.”

“Sounds good to me,” Greg sighed.


	14. Chapter 14

It wasn't really any wonder the road they'd been driving was deserted, they'd taken a wrong turn and were headed for fucking nowhere. Tom wanted to commemorate the evening by dropping a pin on the exact location and realized they weren't actually where they were supposed to be. So they were closer to one and a half hours late to their check-in at the cottage, all the shops were closed, and Tom's dream of a late night culinary adventure were crushed. He hung back when Greg, now changed from his checkered shirt to a grey knit jumper, got the key from some bearded mountain man character, busied himself getting their bags and the crappy food they'd picked up at a gas station. 

“Desole encore pour le retard,” Greg said, and the bearded mountain man character who had met them outside shrugged. 

“Pas de probleme, chez moi est a dix minutes d'ici.”

“Hmm,” Tom said, nodding, from a distance.

“Alors, bonne nuit,” the guy said and got into his truck.

“Bonne nuit,” Greg said. 

Tom walked up to him. “Everything good?”

“Yeah,” Greg said. “he said there's wood in the shed, explained how to get down to the village, said to call him if we need anything. He lives pretty close.”

“Cool, cool.”

“Did he like freak you out or something?”

“Huh?”

“It's not really like you to let me do all the talking.”

Tom gave him a stupid look. “I smell like I just got banged in the back of a car, Greg.”

Greg laughed. “No you don't!”

“Like you'd be able to tell,” Tom huffed. “get the door.”

Greg unlocked the cabin, opened the door to Tom, found the light switch. Tom unceremoniously dumped all the bags on the wooden kitchen table and started opening doors until he found the bathroom and immediately pulled his sweater off, walking in. Greg could hear him turn on the shower. He kind of wanted to go in after him. But on the other hand the place was pretty cold. So he decided to get it heated up instead, walked outside and got wood, started stoking a fire. It was getting nicely warm and toasty by the time Tom emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Where did you put the bags?” Tom asked. “I need my pajamas or something.” 

Greg walked over with a woollen blanket he'd found on the sofa, grinned and folded it out, draped it over Toms's back and used it to pull him close. Tom looked amused, but not in that manic or mocking way he did sometimes, just gentle and almost confused, expressive eyebrows turning up. When Greg kissed him he let both hands come up to Greg's face. 

It got kind of late as they worked their way through the gas station supplies, the Hickory Sticks, the Maltesers, the Coke and Mountain Dew, talking bullshit and making each other laugh. Greg was sitting very slouched on the sofa, leaning into Tom, now changed into his pajamas but still wrapped up in the blanket. The fire crackled and they'd lit all the tea lights they could find, foregoing the electric lights, so the cottage was entirely illuminated by flickers of flame. Tom shifted, draping his arm over Greg's shoulder, and Greg melted into it. 

“This is like, so nice,” he sighed.

“Mm,” Tom said. 

“Let's just stay.”

“Mm?”

“Yeah, like, how much can this place cost to buy. We can grow big beards like that dude that owns the place and wear flannel and chop wood and nobody will know who we are.”

Tom laughed. “Yeah, no fucking thanks.”

“It will be hard though. When we go back to New York.”

Tom's fingers came up to brush through Greg's hair. “You think you'll still want to do this? In New York?”

Greg tilted his face to look at him. “Uh yeah? Won't you?”

Tom smiled again. “Ha, yeah. Yes. What the fuck have I got left to lose. You're the one putting it all on the line.”

“Huh?”

“Your big partnership with Kendall. You think he'll be cool with you being with me? He and Shiv bicker a lot but he's protective of her. Well, in his way.”

Greg shrugged. “Guess he'll just have to deal. Or he can go ahead without me.”

Tom looked at him again with that slightly confused, amused look, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Greg's temple. 

*

Tom woke up in a way he had already become almost scarily accustomed to, in an unfamiliar room with the increasingly familiar heat and weight of Greg Hirsch clinging to him. He blinked the sand out of his eyes and looked at Greg's sleeping face, his slack mouth and long black eyelashes fanning down his cheeks, his pretty moles. Maybe this whole affair was as crazy as it looked on paper, but it felt right. Being able to openly acknowledge to himself he found Greg Hirsch beautiful felt fucking fantastic. The fact that it seemed to be intensely and recklessly reciprocated both gave him butterflies and made him a little worried for Greg's eyesight. Tom didn't really have any confidence issues about his looks, he knew he was a dapper, handsome guy with a great dress sense, but ah, Greg's open adoration did feel a little over the top all things considered. But it felt genuine too. 

He leaned forward a little, lightly kissed Greg's forehead, started shifting away from him, dragged away a long arm slung over his middle, slid his leg away from under a bony knee. 

“I'm getting up. Going for a walk,” he whispered. “wanna come?”

At first there was no sign Greg was awake, then his slack mouth twitched into a bright smile, his eyes still closed, and he lazily shook his head.

“Suit yourself.”

Tom pulled on dark jeans and a blue knit jumper in a vaguely Scandinavian pattern and walked outside. It had been dark when they arrived the day before, but now it was bright and crisp. The cottage was swiss style and built out of reddish wood, and it looked smaller than it felt on the inside. He could see other cottages dotting the woods but they were fairly sheltered by brown and orange trees, and far away. He really wanted some coffee, but it could wait. They'd go down to the village and have a breakfast feast later. He walked down the path and started walking a little aimlessly along the road. He glanced back at the cottage, then found his phone in his pockets and dialled.

_“Yes,”_ Logan replied.

“Hi ah, it's me. So- had a pretty long, chat, with Greg last night.”

_“Hm.”_

“Apparently, he's been talking to Ewan about Kendall's plans. Did you know Kendall wants to shut down ATN?”

_“I'd heard rumours,”_ Logan said. _“I consider this confirmation.”_

“But um- well, Ewan votes with you.”

_“Are you sure?”_

“Greg's sure,” Tom said. “I haven't spoken to Ewan about it myself but my impression is that he kind of enjoys you being crucified in the media right now, but... loyalty's just a really big thing to him, and he finds Kendall's ploy illoyal, and his instinct is to be loyal to you.”

There was a silence. _“Would he vote or abstain if it came down to a confidence vote against me?”_

“He'd vote,” Tom said. “he's pretty adamant, apparently. Hah. Greg said he thinks he's fit enough to go to New York.”

_“Hm. Well.”_

“Logan?”

_“Mm?”_

“Well I- I guess you're planning terrible vengeance when all this is over. Can I just ask you maybe leave Greg alone?”

_“Tom. What do you take me for?”_

“Yeah aha, I know, how ridiculous of me, of course you're not planning anything like that. But. Uh. Could you?”

Another pause. _”Very well,”_ Logan said. _”but I want my brother, here, in this room, when I summon you. I don't want any fucking illuminati theories or Electoral College bullshit, I want my brother, as healthy and sane as he's capable of, voting decisively in my support. Can you get me that?”_

“Yes, sir,” Tom said. “I believe I can.”


	15. Chapter 15

The day in the mountains was spent pleasantly. When Greg finally emerged from the bedroom they drove down to the nearest village for a not especially fancy but hearty breakfast and then they drove on to a good hiking spot, walked for a couple hours, Greg trying to take artsy pictures with his phone and occasionally asking Tom to pose. When they got back to the cottage they were pleasantly beat, car full of shopping bags, and Greg slumped down on the sofa, put his feet up on the table and read an old paperback he'd found on a shelf while Tom got busy cooking.

Tom enjoyed cooking, had some nice memories of helping his dad out, accompanying him into markets and delis and going into second hand bookshops, they'd nod at each other and then Tom took the turn into the comic book section and his dad beelined for the cookbooks. He definitely wasn't as skilled as his dad, didn't really have the time or the nerdy interest in it, but he'd picked up some tricks and he knew what he was doing. The cottage kitchen was very simple and pretty small compared to what he was used to; it had a small oven, a gas stovetop, a sink and a mini fridge. So he decided not to get too ambitious. He put tomatoes in boiling water to skin them before chopping them up and putting them in a pot with hot olive oil and garlic and letting them break apart into a smooth marinara, cut up eggplant into discs and covered them with salt. 

“Smells super good,” Greg said while the eggplant parm was baking, starting to hover around the tiny kitchen.

“Another twenty minutes or so and it should be ready,” Tom said, taking the hopefully drinkable wine they'd got out of the mini fridge and opening it up to air it out. 

“It looks so fancy,” Greg said, squinting through the dirty glass of the small oven.

“It's not,” Tom said, put some romaine on a chopping board and started chopping it up quickly, hoping Greg was impressed by his knife skills. “this is like, peasant's fare in Italy.”

“Have you been?”

“What, to Italy? Yeah, a few times. Rome, Rome is great. Puglia, fantastic. Sicily.”

“Cool. I've- yeah, I've only travelled like, with you and everyone. So uh. Scotland... and Hungary. It would be cool to travel more.”

“Yeahh when the dust settles a little, I'll show you some other bits of Europe. Less uh rowdy. Paris. The riviera. Rome. Vienna. Treat you to some real Old World luxury.” He raised an eyebrow. “Could be fun. Swanning around on a Grand Tour with a hot young thing on my arm.”

Greg grinned. “Yeah uh, Kendall said I could be COO maybe, so maybe you'll be the hot thing on _my_ arm.”

Tom laughed. 

The parm turned out really well, and Greg used the bread rolls they'd got from the bakery to sop up the sauce from the pan when it was all gone, and they finished the wine and lounged around, shooting the shit on the sofa. It wasn't the biggest sofa in the world and there was other seating but whatever, they made it work. Before they knew it it was late and pitch dark outside so they got the fire going again. 

“It was a good idea coming up here,” Tom said. “calm before the storm.”

“You think there'll be a storm?” Greg said. Tom looked at him stupidly. “Uh huh, yeah, Waystar, right. Like, I mean, I do think about what will happen? But it doesn't seem as important as it did before.”

“What if Kendall loses? He did once.”

Greg pressed his lips together. “Yeah. But like, Tom, there's stuff you can't like, buy yourself out of. Like uh. Climate change? The rise of fascism? Political polarization in like society?”

“Okay Greg, don't hurt yourself.”

“Um I'm just saying- even if you're really rich you still have to like live on this shitty planet. And Ken says he wants to maybe try to make it a little less shitty. Maybe everything wrong with American society isn't down to ATN, but it's not helping, either.”

“You really believe he'll shut it down?”

“Yeah, if he gets the chance, he will. For like, all the aforementioned reasons.” Greg shrugged, eyes wide. “And even if he doesn't, he came out against his dad in a press conference which has been like on the news and uploaded to every social media and even has some pretty fun youtube mashups uh... and like, that's powerful. Like, being COO would be cool, but I don't regret anything even if it all goes to shit. I'm proud I was part of it.”

“I'm proud of you,” Tom said, and meant it. “guess you do have principles after all.” He sighed, stretched a little, legs shifting over where they were resting in Greg's lap. “So, what's the plan? We go back down to the ranch tomorrow?”

Greg's hand started stroking up Tom's leg. “Yeah... we go to the ranch, get Mondale, make sure grandpa is fine and then we come back and live here for the rest of our lives.”

“Yeah, okay, Greg.”

“You know when you argued with the guy at the cheese counter for like twenty minutes?”

Tom made a face. “I wasn't _arguing,_ I just think someone who mans a cheese counter, if that is your _job,_ you should be able to tell me how the mozzarella you sell every day has been produced?” Tom shrugged. “So he had to call someone, so what, now he knows, I literally made him better at his job.”

“Yeah uh okay. Um. Well, while you were making the guy at the cheese counter better at his job, I picked up some condoms and lube?”

“This your idea of seduction, Greg?”

Greg grinned and nodded, and Tom laughed at his whole stupid earnest pretty face. He leaned in and used a hand to grab Greg's jumper, pulled him in for a kiss.

* * *

The next morning they drove down to the Roy ranch. Mondale acted like they'd returned from war, whining and wagging his tail and running around their feet begging for attention until they both crouched down to pet him. 

“Hey grandpa,” Greg said. “we're back!”

“I'm not blind, Greg,” Ewan said. Tom noticed the cane was gone. He looked a lot better. His face seemed fuller, his eyes brighter. He was kind of impressed. The old miser was resilient. Tom had the impulse to tell him he looked well, but he knew better.

“Hello mr Roy.”

“Don't be obsequious, Tom,” Ewan said a little sharply. “my name is Ewan.”

“Uhh- okay-- Ewan,” Tom said. He shot Greg a look and Greg raised his eyebrows back, smiled a little incredulously.

“This morning I received a request to attend a vote in Waystar Royco's offices in New York. It seems Kendall's wish for another vote to dethrone his father has finally been accepted by enough board members.”

“Oh, wow,” Tom said.

“Mm. Like I already told Greg, I would like to attend. I expect you both to accompany me.”

Greg nodded. “Of course, grandpa.” 

“We will have to leave tonight to be able to attend the in person vote tomorrow. Well, I hope you are both hungry, Betty has spent a considerable amount of time cooking for us all today, and I believe she even took note of Tom's droning about in-season artichokes.”

* * *

Tom was pretty exhausted when they got to New York. Ewan on the other hand looked sprightly, he'd spent most of the overnight drive in the backseat asleep with a blanket over his knees and an ushanka on his head, Mondale curled up next to him, while Greg and Tom took turns driving. 

Ewan walked tall and dignified into the Waystar building, Greg walking close and attentive in case he needed him, Tom hanging back a little with Mondale on a leash. Walking into the boardroom Tom spotted Kendall. There seemed to be some grey in his hair which hadn't been there before, he looked focussed and sharp and serious. But when he saw Tom a flash of surprise came over his face, and he looked a little lost before he collected himself. Tom nodded at him. On the opposite side of the room from Kendall was Logan. He looked fairly relaxed and even politely greeted his brother. 

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Logan said. “we are gathered here today to vote on my fate as CEO. There has been a motion to replace me with my son, Kendall. Brought forth, I believe, by Kendall himself. Ken, you will be pleased to know that the final and deciding person to approve this vote, was me.”

If Kendall was surprised, he managed to hide it a lot better than he did when he spotted Tom walk in. 

“I believe it is time we put an end to this nonsense, one way or another,” Logan continued. “if the board truly believes my son Kendall, whose issues and life story should be known to all around this table, will be able to run this company better than myself, who built it from some billboards in rural Canada into a globe spanning empire, then this is your chance to right an apparent wrong. Let me kick the vote off. I vote against the motion. I say nay. Let's go around the table.”

Tom counted heads, but he didn't really need to, he already knew there were eleven board members. Two weren't present and gave their votes by telephone. 

“Aye.”

“Nay.”

“Nay.”

Both Kendall and Logan seemed put out by some of the votes, and when they'd gone clockwise around the table, the score was five-five. Last, seated next to his brother, was Ewan. 

“Well, then,” Logan said. “what say you, Ewan?”

Ewan cleared his throat.


	16. Chapter 16

All eyes were on Ewan Roy as he was the last board member to vote on the motion to install Kendall Roy as the new CEO of Waystar Royco. He looked back, scanning the room.

“Well?” Logan asked. “Are you going to give your vote?”

“No,” Ewan said.

Logan smiled, raised flat palms. “Well, there you have it. Another nay. Sorry, Kendall, but again-”

“No, I am not going to give my vote,” Ewan said, talking over Logan. Logan tilted his head. 

“Very well,” he said in the same placating tone. “my brother abstains. That means it’s a draw, which means status quo. Not quite what I had expected-” he made eye contact with Tom- “but whatever works for you. Now-”

“I am not going to give my vote, because it’s not my vote to give,” Ewan said. Logan sat back, his mask of icy professionalism dropping to make way to a familiar look of disdainful exasperation.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Hanging back, towards the back of the room, Tom’s hand came up to touch the small of Greg’s back.

* * *

**TWO DAYS EARLIER**

Tom Wambsgans felt a fondness which was threatening to overpower him and make him say something really stupid. It was probably just the setting – the cozy, well, romantic really, little cottage, Greg all close and warm against him, the quiet, the crackle of the fire. 

“It will be hard though,” Greg said. “when we go back to New York.”

Greg’s hair was getting a little longer already, so soon after his haircut. Tom's fingers came up to brush through the thick black strands. “You think you'll still want to do this? In New York?” He heard his own voice go soft.

Greg tilted his face to look at him. “Uh yeah? Won't you?”

Yeah, he really needed to watch what he said right now. “Ha, yeah. Yes. What the fuck have I got left to lose. You're the one putting it all on the line.”

“Huh?”

“Your big partnership with Kendall. You think he'll be cool with you being with me? He and Shiv bicker a lot but he's protective of her. Well, in his way.”

Greg shrugged. “Guess he'll just have to deal. Or he can go ahead without me.”

Instead of telling Greg he thought he might just be in love with him, the borzoi-boned bastard, Tom leaned in and pressed his lips to Greg's temple. Greg turned his head and they met in a kiss, it was soft and then it turned needy. Greg’s huge hands gripped at Tom’s shoulders and his own hand traveled down to Greg’s crotch, started rubbing. 

“Take it out, I’ll suck your dick,” Tom said a little breathlessly. He really did need to keep his mouth occupied because he was not going to be able to keep the stuff he was thinking in his head where it really needed to stay.

To Tom’s surprise Greg drew back, put some space between them, pulled his hands away and folded them protectively over his lap.

“What? What’s wrong honey?”

Honey? Yeah he needed something in his mouth stat.

“Like uh- I told you I wanted to talk to you about something like totally private. Maybe we should just like do that before I get distracted.”

“Um. Okay?”

“Like. I’ve been talking to Kendall. And I’ve been talking to grandpa.”

“Yeah?”

“Kendall is like working out of a secret location right now. He has like a whole plan, for like Waystar?”

“Okay?”

“Yeah like, do a whole rebrand. Get more ethical. Really move into digital, into streaming. He wants to close down ATN.”

Tom frowned. “He wants to do what? He can't do that.”

“He can if he's CEO and the board is with him.

“Are you serious? Kendall is never going to be CEO.”

“He could be, if there’s a vote in the board to put him in place. What he's doing now, with the press, it's a distraction. It's keeping Logan's lawyers busy but Kendall knows he can't harm his dad's reputation, at the end of the day half the world like hates Logan Roy no matter what? He still makes money. Kendall doesn't really think he can win that battle.” Greg cleared his throat. “But he can win the board and that's what he's working on.”

“Greg,” Tom said pleasantly, put a hand on his knee. “Logan fired everyone on the board that voted against him the last time. It’s not happening.”

“Thing is, a lot of people are mad after the whole Hunger Games shit on the yacht, and what went down in Cruises which a lot of the younger members legit did not know about, and a few more people defected to Kendall's side. So it's kind of um evening out or whatever. And like… there’s grandpa.”

“Ewan voted with Logan the last time.”

“Yeah but like I said I’ve been talking to him. About this. Like, I told him everything I’m telling you now.”

Tom tilted his head. “You changed his mind.”

“No. He says he won’t vote against his own brother. It’s like a whole… loyalty deal.” Greg looked up. “But uh. I told you, right, he kind of has his own way of showing like, affection or appreciation or whatever?”

“Yeah?”

“He gave me his seat.”

Tom grinned. “Gregory fucking Hirsch.”

Greg smiled, bit his lip. “Yeah. I signed like all the paperwork right before I came to ask you to come up here with me. His lawyers were there and everything. I just – I just don’t want to have like, any secrets at all from you, Tom. Okay, so, cool. Now you know.” He breathed out, relieved. “Okay, if like, the offer of a blowjob is still valid, I will um happily take advantage of this generous-”

“Aaah,” Tom said, swallowed, held a hand up. There was a silence. “there’s something maybe I’d like to tell you too.”

“Okay?”

Tom felt his face go a little warm. “The- the night I came to your apartment, the night you heard about your grandpa?”

“Yeah?”

“Logan kind of sent me. To pump you for information.”

“What?”

Tom forced himself to meet Greg’s eye. “Yeah he wanted me to-”

“He- he told you to like spy on me?”

“What? No. Just talk to you. Find out what you’d given Kendall.”

Greg’s face turned into a neutral mask. “Is that why you came up with me?”

“What? What! No! No, it’s not, no, I came up with you because we’re friends, jesus christ, uh-- here, look, look, okay?” Tom fumbled for his phone, unlocked it and thrust it at Greg. “Look, look at my messages.”

A little unsurely Greg swiped to click on Logan Roy and saw a bunch of unanswered messages, only interspersed with _Greg gets Ewan’s board seat if he dies_ from weeks ago and a very rare _no news_ when Logan's messages got really furious in tone. 

“Now look at the calls, look at the calls,” Tom said. Greg did, saw the amount of unanswered calls from Logan Roy.

“You’ve been ghosting uncle Logan?” The blankness of his expression momentarily gave way to a brush of amusement.

“Yes Greg. Yes I have.” Tom drew a deep breath. “You’ll see I took his call the night Ewan woke up, because I thought it would be decent to let him know. Don’t be mad at me, okay? Like, please don’t be mad. Look – look, these weeks have been – the happiest I’ve been in years. And- almost from the moment I met you you’ve been the highlight of my day.” Tom blinked, trying to keep his voice level. “I’ve been so fucking sad for so fucking long and my god Greg, being with you is like- like I’ve been living in a cave and I finally found my way out into the sun. That’s what it feels like. Like- like I've tried so hard to believe it was light and warm and I almost managed to fool myself and now I'm standing in it and it's real and it's so much better than I could have imagined.” He swallowed. Greg was still just kind of staring at him, unreadable. “I love you, Greg,” Tom said, throwing caution to the wind, hearing his voice go a bit Kermit the Frog-like in an attempt not to choke. 

Greg blinked, and then he nodded.

“I’ll like, I’ll do anything to make this right, I’ll-”

“There’s something,” Greg said, and then he smiled.

Tom’s shoulders dropped with relief. “A ha, yes, ah, of course.” He leaned forwards on both hands, looked into Greg’s eyes with a very serious expression. “I will one hundred percent swallow your load, Greg.”

Greg laughed. “No, not that.”

“Uh. No?”

“Does uncle Logan know about you and me? I mean-” He moved a hand inbetween them.

“What? God, no. Why would I gossip about boys on the phone with Logan fucking Roy.”

“Does he still trust you?”

Tom scratched the back of his head. “Hard to say. I doubt I’m on top of his Christmas card list at the moment.”

“I told you a lot of people have said they’ll vote with Kendall? He doesn’t have enough of the senior members to actually get a vote brought before the board though. He’s missing one person.” Greg leaned in a little. “Logan would have that authority. Think there’s a way you could get him to agree to a vote? Like if he thought it was going to go his way?”

Tom blinked, crossed his arms. “Gregory fucking Hirsch,” he said again, impressed.

* * *

“I have seceded my seat to my grandson, Gregory Hirsch,” Ewan said, got up, and walked over to Greg. Tom rubbed Greg’s back for a moment, then nodded, and Greg walked over, took Ewan’s seat next to Logan, while Ewan stood next to Tom in back. 

“What the fuck,” Logan said, turned to Gerri. “can he do that?”

“Seems like he just did,” Gerri said.

“”I would like, to give my vote,” Greg said, gesticulating.

“Fuck off,” Logan said.

“Um-”

“Let’s hear it, Greg,” Kendall said, smiling a little incredulously from the other side of the room.

“Well, if it please the board, I, Gregory Hirsch, would like to vote yay, uh I mean aye, to the motion of the installment of Kendall Roy as CEO of Waystar Royco. By which I mean yes.”

Gasps broke out across the table and Logan’s eyes went dark and he stood up suddenly, and Greg pushed his chair backwards on reflex. 

“Ah,” Tom said, stepping inbetween them. “well um, that certainly was a surprise, but everything proceeded according to-” Logan’s arm came up rapidly and delivered a hard slap with the back of his hand to the underside of Tom’s jaw, and Tom yelped a _”fuck”_. There was another wave of gasps and Logan Roy stalked out of the board room. 

“Shit, are you okay, are you okay?” Greg turned Tom around with both arms, inspected his face.

“Uh- uh yeah-” Tom said, more disoriented than hurt.

Greg’s face broke out into a relieved smile. “My hero,” he said, half-laughing.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” Tom said, felt a little embarrassed, very aware of a throbbing in his jaw. Then Greg tilted his face up a little and leaned down and kissed his lips, and the commotion in the rest of the room quieted. Tom pulled away and saw pretty much everybody in the room staring at them.

Ewan cleared his throat, breaking the fragile silence. “If we’re done here, boys, I’d like you to take me home now.”


	17. Epilogue: Two Months Later

Tom Wambsgans opened the door to the apartment he shared with Greg Hirsch with his shoulder, his arms full of mail. It was the same apartment Greg had been borrowing from Kendall the past two years, with one key change. The day after the historic vote at Waystar, a document signing the apartment over to Greg had arrived in Greg's inbox. They'd never really had a “moving in” conversation, Tom had just kind of stayed because he didn't have anywhere else, and then he'd picked up the rest of his stuff from Shiv's home and enmeshed it with Greg's, and then one day he'd locked himself in with Greg's spare key which now lived in his pocket and realized the mailbox that previously had read HIRSCH now said HIRSCH AND WAMBSGANS in the same copper plate type as the rest of the boxes. And that was just fine with him. They were happy, busy, Tom had a new executive position at Waystar's new streaming media offices and Kendall had only told him to please stay on site as much as possible as Shiv didn't really want to have to run into him all the time, and he pretty much felt the same so he'd readily agreed. Greg hadn't quite got COO rank yet but he was being fast-tracked and currently mentored by Frank Vernon, and when Tom had pulled Frank aside one day to ask how he was doing Frank had very sincerely complimented Greg's “instincts”. It was all pretty exciting. But there was more to life than work and right now it was over for the day and Tom had gone down to pick up the mail they'd forgotten coming in, and Mondale, finally free of furniture rules as Greg was incapable of enforcing them, raised his head from where he was lying on the sofa and wagged his tail in greeting.

“Lot of mail today,” Greg remarked.

“Mmm,” Tom replied, looking through it. “GQ for me. Ooh, the IKEA catalogue! Here's some stuff for you... hmm. What's this?”

He put the mail down on the kitchen table and opened the stiff envelope adressed to Tom Wambsgans in formal-looking type, pulled some documents out. His confused frown changed, his eyebrows turned up and his mouth fell open a little, and he sat down at the table.

“Tom? You okay?”

“Yeah. Uh. The divorce. It's final. It's over.” He looked up, brandished a document.

Greg grinned. “Awesome! We should like, celebrate? Like, hey, let's go out, grab dinner, get drunk.”

“Hm.” He looked down on the paper, Shiv's familiar signature, his own.

Greg tilted his head, walked over, pulled up a chair and sat down opposite, facing him, knees close. “Aren't you happy?”

“I-” Tom looked at him, attempted a smile. “uh. Look, I don't, I don't miss Shiv, and I don't miss our marriage. I don't miss feeling like shit every day, trust me. But- god, I had all these plans. I was gonna get married, and it was going to be for life just like my mom and dad, and I was going to be a father.” He took a deep breath. “And I couldn't even clear my first anniversary. It's a loss, Greg. But like, I'm fine, I'll be fine.”

Greg reached out, took one of Tom's hands in both of his. “I mean. Dude. You know you could still have all of those things?”

“Doesn't look very likely, does it Greg.”

“Why not? Like, long term wise, I'd be into it. All of it. It sounds good to me.”

Tom looked at him a little sharply, studied his face. But he just looked earnest and sincere. “You're serious.”

Greg looked down. “Uh-huh. Ouais. T'es, genre, l'amour de ma vie, mec.”

“I'm not sure I got all of that,” Tom said, staring a little. “but it sounded good.” 

Greg anchored himself with both hands flat on Tom's thighs and leaned down and in on a tilt and kissed his mouth, and Tom kissed him back, one hand on Greg's arm and one in his hair. 

“I still think we should like celebrate,” Greg said when he pulled away, face very close to Tom's. “but like, we don't have to go out if you don't feel like it. We could just go upstairs.”

“Um uh huh yeah”

Greg grinned at him, pulled him up and led the way up the stairs to the mezzanine, and Tom closed the door behind them. They kissed easy and familiar, Tom's hands coming down to grope at Greg's ass and Greg giggled a little, pulled away and flopped down on their bed, started pulling his clothes off. Tom tilted his head, looked at him appreciatively for a moment, before he jumped him, came crashing down over him and pinned him down.

“Jesus christ,” Greg laughed, winded. “you lunatic.”

“No you lunatic,” Tom said in a stupid voice and held both his wrists down. “do you yield?”

Greg laughed helplessly then hooked a leg over Tom's and flipped them both over with a wrestling move. He'd never really been into the whole, rough and tumble thing, but playfighting with Greg was really fun. He was like a big gentle dog who was keenly aware of how far he could go and constantly checked in just to be on the safe side. Right now he was studying Tom's face with a smile but with keenness too, making sure. Tom grabbed the back of Greg's head and raised his face and they kissed again, deep, and Greg leaned down with his full weight and they moved against each other.

“I know it's like the middle of the afternoon but since it's a special occasion,” Tom said, raising an eyebrow. “finalized divorce bang?”

“Cool,” Greg said. He rolled off Tom and they started pulling each others' clothes off and it was messy and clumsy and fun. When they were both naked Tom got down on his knees, leaned forward on his elbows, thrilled a little to hear that now-familiar hitch in Greg's breath and feel the sensation of Greg's still-reverent fingertips on his skin.

“God Tom,” Greg exhaled after a while, pulled out the three digits he'd managed to work into him, rustled with something behind him and then he was pulling him up, up on his knees, and he moved in flush, Greg's chest to Tom's back, and guided his hard, slick dick to Tom and Tom turned his face so they could kiss when he entered him. They hadn't used protection in a while, as soon as they had a moment's spare time Greg had booked them both for bloodwork at the clinic and when Tom had asked him what the _fuck Greg_ he'd gone “well uh we won't need condoms and stuff if we're clean? I mean we're exclusive” like that was the most natural thing in the world and Tom would maybe have thought that was some kind of corny attempt at reassuring him if it wasn't for the fact he'd looked pretty surprised at how tight Tom had hugged him to him. Then realization had dawned and Greg had whispered something about “I don't want anyone but you, like ever” and yeah that had been a pretty spectacular night. 

Tom liked it like this though, familiar and spontaneous, on his knees with Greg's arms around him from behind, face tilted back so he could kiss and mouth at Greg's face while he fucked him all slow and tender. Greg whimpered a little, buried his face in Tom's shoulder and started thrusting a little more erratic and Tom reached up an arm to cradle his head, combing through his hair. He gasped when Greg came hot inside, clutching him in tight, breathing it out for a few beats before he reached down for Tom's dick, stroked quick and expert until Tom came with a moan. His head fell back a little, then he smiled and kissed the side of Greg's head and they disentangled, and Tom started getting up for the shower when Greg pulled him back down, wrapped both arms around him and sighed.

“The thrill is gone now you're not married anymore.”

“Oh ha ha.”

Greg grinned. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, grandpa asked us to visit.”

“He did?”

“Well, he called us irresponsible dog owners for keeping Mondale cooped up in an apartment and said we owed him some help overseeing the new stables he's building. Which I'm pretty sure is grandpa-speak for please come visit.”

“Sure. Of course. We could fly out this weekend.”

“I thought maybe it would be more fun to drive?”

Tom raised his eyebrow, and Greg grinned.


End file.
